


Our Old World is Hard to Find

by sevenminutes



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 02:57:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3553493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenminutes/pseuds/sevenminutes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jesse moves to London for work, Rachel makes a choice that changes everything their relationship once was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Old World is Hard to Find

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t even remember how I thought of this; it’s been a part of my brain for so long. 
> 
> Title is from Belly Up by Maria Mena, other songs used are Wonderful Tonight by Eric Clapton, Rain by Patty Griffin, and One Moment More by Mindy Smith.
> 
> To my darling, amazing beta…This NEVER would have happened without your support. I can’t thank you enough for staying up with me into the early morning, reading revisions over and over again, and just generally being AWESOME. You enable me in the worst possible way, and I love you for it.

 

 

They’re older and they say that they’re wiser, but they’re really not. Rachel is still driven and a little naïve. Jesse is still ruthless and catches all the breaks. It’s small differences, little details, really. She traded penny loafers for pumps years ago, and last month he grew a goatee. Rachel had looked at him two weeks into _that_ experiment and just said, “If you want dinner, you need to go shave.”

They’re the most stable couple either of them knows, which is a little scary sometimes.

.   .   .   .   .

It’s a little known fact that Thanksgiving is easily Rachel Berry's favorite holiday. Every other day of the year she was doing one thing or another, always active. She is working regularly in small roles on Broadway, and when she isn't caught up in a show she’s performing in clubs and working on her own musical. She likes her comfortably busy life 364 days of the year, but on Thanksgiving she just likes to cook and relax and be with her friends and family.

It is also the one day of the year that she makes an exception to her vegetarian lifestyle and indulges in a little bit of turkey. A college habit of stress baking (and eating) changed her veganism, but she largely still avoids meat, only indulging in a couple of slices of turkey once a year.

Rachel is bent over the open oven, basting the turkey and checking on the dressing when Jesse saunters into the room, phone pressed to his ear.

"Uh-huh... Yes... I understand this is a great opportunity, but I don't have an answer for you right now... Thank you for considering me...I'll be in touch soon, yes."

Jesse sighs as he drops his phone on the counter, and waits for the question from Rachel. He knows she’s going to ask. She’s too curious for her own good.

"Was that a work thing?" Rachel asks curiously. "Jesus, it's a _holiday_..."

"Not in London it’s not."

The statement hangs in the air, hovering above them in the large kitchen, waiting to be addressed.

Rachel slowly turns to face Jesse, basting brush still in hand.

"London?"

"I've been asked to join the cast of a new West End play."

"Not the play I've been obsessing over since it was announced?"

"Yep. That's the one. Their male lead dropped out at the last minute, and they want me in the part as soon as possible."

"Do it," she tells him immediately, completely without hesitation.

"Whoa. Slow down. I'd have to move to London for at least six months, and leave like…December first. That's a big commitment."

"It's also a great opportunity," she argues back.

"I don't want to leave you," he admits softly, avoiding her gaze by sifting through the almonds, pecans and roasted pumpkin seeds of her signature Thanksgiving Trail Mix for a cranberry.

"We'll work it out. I can visit," she reminds him brightly, laying a hand on his cheek and turning his head to face her.

He’s still unsure, not quite convinced that this is a good idea. He’s thinking of all the things happening in the next six months; his birthday, Rachel’s birthday, Christmas, Hanukkah, New Year's, _his and Rachel’s anniversary_...he doesn't want to miss all of that.

Rachel steps even closer to him, seemingly hearing his thoughts, and wraps her arms around his neck, her fingers playing with the wavy hair just above his neck.

"How about this? Take the holiday weekend to think about it. If you want to do it, we'll work out a schedule for me to visit."

She made it sound so...simple, so much _less_ like he would be moving to a foreign country for an extended period of time, he thinks to himself.

But even leaning in to kiss her, with the comforting scent of cinnamon and nutmeg surrounding them, couldn’t stop the sinking feeling in his stomach that _something_ would go wrong.

.   .   .   .   .

“Do you have everything?” she asks for the tenth time in thirty minutes.

“Yes,” Jesse replies immediately, a patient smile on his lips.

“Your passport?”

“Yes.”

“You’re _sure_?”

“Rachel,” he murmurs, gathering her into his arms. “I’m ready to go, I have everything, and I’ll be fine.”

She nods slightly, gazing up at him, her big brown eyes brimming with tears.

“I’m just worried,” she mumbles, pressing a hand to her stomach, hoping the anxious ache will quiet so she can enjoy her last few minutes with him.

“No,” Jesse whispers with a smile, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “You’re hoping I forgot something so I’ll have to stay.”

Affronted, she leans back in his embrace, mock-glaring at him as she shakes her head.

“No. I am not, and you really should take that back.”

“Hate to break it to you, but I know you _far_ too well to recant.”

She has to laugh then, but somehow it comes out more as a sob and Jesse just holds her tighter. He holds her until he has to check in for his flight and once he steps away with one last kiss and a promise to love her forever is when she starts to really lose it.

She keeps her composure just long enough to make it to her cab, hiding her splotchy, tearstained face and red eyes from the driver for the entire trip.

.   .   .   .   .

She flies to London for the premiere, _of course_. He’s expecting that she won’t be there until the morning of because she had such a packed schedule, but the night before, there she is on his doorstep, all bundled up like a very belated Christmas gift.

Missing the holidays, and only getting to see pictures and video from Rachel’s twenty-eighth birthday had been hell for them both. Ringing in the New Year over skype was torture. So, seeing her here, and earlier than he even expected, is like a dream come true.

“I wanted to surprise you,” she beams, launching herself into his arms.

“I’m definitely surprised,” he smiles, burying his face in her soft hair and inhaling the familiar scent of her shampoo and perfume. “God, I missed you so much.”

“Me, too,” she whispers in his ear before grinning mischievously. “Care to let me show you how much?”

“The answer to that is always yes,” he tells her seriously before lifting her up into his arms and carrying her to the bedroom, Rachel’s squeal of surprise echoing in the hall.

“Always?” she asks as she kneels on the bed in front of him, working on his belt.

“ _Always_ , forever.”

All of a sudden, it feels like they’re talking about something far more serious than reunion sex, and Rachel tugs on Jesse’s collar to pull him down onto the bed.

“What have you missed most?” she asks with a coy smile as she unfastens the buttons of his shirt.

“Everything,” he replies, tugging her sweater over her head.

“Even jet-lagged and gross from the plane ride?” she asks, rolling her eyes.

In response, he moves down her body, his hands reaching for the button on her jeans, and as she lifts her hips, he starts to sing, “ _It's late in the evening; she's wondering what clothes to wear_.”

It makes her smile, and she has to bite her lip to keep from tearing up. They danced to this song on their first date. The date that Rachel counts as their first date, almost five years ago, was actually their second date as adults. She doesn’t count the first one because it was essentially drinks and then fucking all night. But the second date, that’s a story she can tell her children.

“ _She puts on her make-up and brushes her long_ brown _hair._ ”

He keeps singing as he kisses his way back up her body, and she remembers them softly swaying along with the jukebox as she thought that Jesse smelled exactly like he had in high school, eucalyptus and just a spicy hint of something else that she’s never been able to place.

“ _And then she asks me_ …”

“ _Do I look all right_?” Rachel sings in return, her hands on his cheeks pulling him closer to rest her forehead against his.

“ _And I say, ‘Yes, you look wonderful tonight_.’”

As she rolls him over, cutting the song short by covering his mouth with her own, she can’t think of anywhere else she’d rather be than here in London with him, and she tries to ignore the sinking feeling from knowing that she’ll have to leave again.

.   .   .   .   .

Morning is Rachel’s favorite time to make love, and the morning of the premiere she wakes Jesse up by straddling his waist and pressing sweet, soft kisses all over his face.

The sun is rising, the bright light of early morning filtering in through his curtains to bathe their bodies in sunshine.

“Good morning,” she singsongs in his ear before biting lightly at the lobe.

“It certainly is,” he agrees, his hands finding their way to her hips.

She starts kissing along his jawline, over his throat and down to his collarbone. Her kisses always have a way of making the rest of the world melt away and Jesse thinks that if he closed his eyes, he could almost believe that they were back home in Manhattan.

“Careful,” he gasps as he feels her teeth softly bite into the tender skin at his pulse point.

Immediately, she pulls back to look at him with narrowed eyes, her grip on his shoulders tightening almost painfully.

“… _What_?”

The list of things he wants to be doing with Rachel right now is long, but fighting is not on it.

“I have the premiere tonight. It’s kind of a big deal. I don’t want to have to worry about covering up hickeys that my sex-starved girlfriend left,” he explains, hoping she’ll see that he’s trying to be rational, responsible, and professional.

Rachel arches one eyebrow at him, scooting away from him a bit. He’s never stopped her from doing this before, and from the look on her face he should be glad she didn’t slap him.

“You’re going to be wearing makeup,” she points out petulantly, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Not before or after, when they’ll be taking _pictures_.”

“Wear a fucking scarf! It’s London in _January_.” She sits back on his thighs, her hands against his chest keeping him from sitting up with her.

“Why are you so pissed?”

She scoffs and looks out the window for a second, shaking her head. He’s pretty sure even _she_ doesn’t know why she’s so pissed.

“Come on, Rach. We make these rules at home when I’m in a show…this isn’t that different.”

He’s not sure why he reminded her of that, because he knows that she hates it.

“I’m here for less than a week, Jesse,” she says softly, looking at her hands on his chest.

He runs his hands up her bare sides and over to her shoulder blades, pulling her back down to lie on his chest.

“I know. I’m sorry,” he whispers before kissing her deeply.

His heart aches as he rolls Rachel onto her back and he watches her eyes close as he kisses almost every inch of her chest. His tongue darts out to taste her nipple and she gasps with her legs tightening around his waist in response.

After that, he doesn’t care what kind of marks she leaves on him. He’s just grateful for the fact that she’s here to make them.

.   .   .   .   .

The premiere is one of the best of his career, and it has less to do with the packed house he received a standing ovation from, and more to do with Rachel, who was waiting for him in his dressing room and kissed him in between murmurs of how proud she was to be his.

She never lets go of him for the whole night, either. From leaving the theatre, to drinks with the cast after, her arm stays locked around his with their fingers laced together.

.   .   .   .   .

“You never mentioned how pretty she is,” Rachel mumbles around her toothbrush, staring hard into the mirror.

“...Should I have?” he asks slowly, watching her carefully from his position on the bed. This conversation is starting to feel like a trap to him.

All she does is shrug and Jesse knows this is quickly turning into a real issue. He's been here for a month, busting his ass to be ready for the opening with the rest of the cast. He hasn't had time to cheat on her, not that he would ever want to.

“I didn't mention it, because I don't care how pretty she is,” he replies, flopping onto his back on the bed, just waiting.

“So you _do_ think she's pretty?”

There it is. He can’t believe he accidentally stepped into that one. Now, there are a million ways to screw this all to hell and only a couple of ways to get out of this.

“I know other people do,” he shrugs, hoping to come off as calmly unconcerned and not like he was blowing her off.

“You can tell me if you think she's attractive. You have to kiss her; you must have noticed her looks. It's perfectly natural, and I know that doesn't mean anything more than you're alive and a man.”

She’s leaning casually against the bathroom door frame. Her tone is carefully nonchalant. All outward signs point to this conversation being no big deal. But, he knows that’s complete bullshit. Rachel is jealous and possessive, and he'll be surprised if she doesn't try to trip Lisa tomorrow.

“You've gotta trust me, Rachel, just like I have to trust you. If you don't think you can, I'm going to be flying back with you on Tuesday. This isn't worth it if it causes this kind of stress on our relationship.”

“I trust you,” she promises him quietly, curling up next to him in the bed.

“Good. You know you're the only woman for me, right?”

“I know.”

Her eyes are locked on the closet door over his shoulder, and he wants to make sure that she really gets it.

“Look at me. You're _it_. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, and I’ll love you for the rest of my life.”

“Show me,” she whispers, softly tracing his bottom lip with the tip of her thumb as she stares into his eyes.

Not wasting another second, he leans in and kisses her deeply. The lingering taste of his spearmint mouthwash hits his tongue and he smiles against her lips, his hands pulling her hips closer to his. She wants him to show her how much he loves her? How much he wants her? He’ll do more than that.

He moves down to start kissing her neck, his hands sliding up under his favorite _Spamalot_ t-shirt, the one that Rachel had claimed for herself shortly before their first anniversary. He has to admit, it looks a lot better on her than it ever had on him. Most of the reason that it’s his favorite is because it hits her in the _perfect_ place.

He’s lost count of the number of times he’s watched her making french toast for the two of them on Sunday mornings, the shirt stopping just above her thighs and giving him a delectable view of her legs with the slightest glimpse of her bare bottom peeking out when she reached for something.

Just being with her like that was one of the things he’s missed most since being here in London.

“Jesse,” she moans in his ear, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist.

He pulls his hands away from her soft, warm skin to pull the hem of the shirt up over her head and shove it off the side of the bed.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, seeing her blushing smile before he leans in to kiss her again.

She sighs contentedly into the kiss, and that familiar sound coupled with her hips shifting beneath his has him forgetting about everything else, time and space melting away and leaving only her, here with him.

He kisses his way down her body, inch by inch, his lips moving at a lazy pace that seems to be agonizing for her, from the way she’s squirming under his touch. He’s glad that they chose to skip out on drinks after dinner with everyone in favor of coming back here, to his temporary home to just spend time together, because her reactions are intoxicating enough.

She shivers when he kisses the swell of her left breast, close enough to hear her heartbeat. She quivers when his lips brush against the freckle just above her bellybutton, her breath hitching in her throat. He nips lightly at the skin of her hip, his fingers curling around the waistband of her panties, and she shudders as she weaves her fingers through his hair.

He’s not sure why she even bothered to put underwear on, and he slowly drags the panties down her legs, noticing for the first time that she painted her toes fire engine red recently. Probably for him, he thinks as he carelessly tosses the lace behind him.

She sits up suddenly, kissing him while pushing his boxers down with shaking hands and a grunt of dissatisfaction that’s muffled by her biting at his lower lip.

He immediately presses her back onto the mattress, one hand splayed wide in the middle of her stomach with just enough pressure to keep her where he wants her to stay. He has to roll away from her for just a second, barely long enough to shed what little clothing he had on, and she whines low in her throat, missing him in her arms.

He wraps his arms around her and her hands land on his shoulders, pulling him in as close as she can. When she kisses him, it’s not nearly as soft or gentle as his had been, her tongue easily slipping into his mouth to deepen the connection. Her hips grind against his, her legs tightening around his waist to get as much contact as she can, and he moans into her mouth.

He’d been trying to make her crazy with need, but he’s only succeeded in doing that to himself. The thought of being inside of her, the memories of last night and that morning echoing in his mind are almost enough to make him come.

He eases away from her, propping himself up on his forearms and quickly moving into position, Rachel kissing and biting wantonly at his shoulder as he does.

She bites down hard when he thrusts into her, no doubt leaving a clear mark above his collarbone for the entire world to see. He pulls his hips back, almost completely withdrawing, before he thrusts into her again, harder than the first time.

“Ah!” she gasps sharply, her fingernails digging into his biceps.

He knows she’s not in pain. She’s been craving harder, faster, and _more_ for the past two days.

“ _Yes_ ,” she hisses as he buries his face in the curve of her neck, kissing the mark he left the night before. One of her hands curls around his neck while the other slips through the soft hair at the base of his head.

All plans for this time being slow and romantic go completely out the window when Rachel starts meeting his thrusts, her hips bucking wildly but somehow in perfect time with him.

He pounds into her relentlessly and she loves every second of it, her gasps and moans filling the small bedroom. One of her hands is gripping the bar of the iron headboard behind her, the muscles in her forearm straining as she tries to keep herself from coming.

“Come,” he grits out before kissing her deeply, the moment not lasting nearly as long as he’d like before he has to pull back to desperately suck more oxygen into his lungs.

The hand on the bar releases and she nods, angling her hips differently so that she can get the right friction against her clit.

“Jesse,” she whimpers, and he knows that’s a sign that she’s right on the edge. “I love you.”

She always says it at least once, no matter what, almost like she’s worried he’ll forget.

Tonight, especially because of their earlier conversation, he makes a point to meet her eyes when he says it back.

“I love you, too.” He leans in to whisper in her ear then, and as _forever_ leaves his lips, her whole body starts to shake, her muscles tensing as she comes apart for him, her walls pulsing around him.

One more thrust from him, and he comes deep inside of her, his fingers bruising her thigh he’s keeping wrapped around his hip.

.   .   .   .   .

If saying goodbye to him once was hard, doing it a second time nearly kills her.

Standing in Heathrow’s drop off area with her bags at her side and Jesse’s arms around her, Rachel feels like she’s cutting her heart out. She doesn’t want to let go.

“Call me when you get home.”

“No,” she says into his shirt, shaking her head. “It’s expensive.”

“I don’t care. I want to know the instant you land safely.”

He’s insisting and she knows _technically_ they can afford it, so she nods in agreement. After leaving him _again_ and the plane ride, she’ll want to hear his voice.

“Come with me,” she sobs, and the request is unexpected to them both. It’s also unfair. This was her idea to begin with. She doesn’t have any right to say that to him, not here and certainly not now.

“I can’t,” Jesse whispers before kissing her, entirely too loving and understanding, much more than she is to him sometimes. “I have to stay, but I’ll be back before you know it, and you can visit again soon.”

They make plans that are never to be, and at the last possible second Rachel tears herself away from him and stomps to her gate, tears streaming down her face.

.   .   .   .   .

The both knew this moment would come. That’s why they had their night in, just the two of them, while she was visiting, complete with Rachel attempting to bake him chocolate cupcakes. It was only an attempt because as she was filling the first tray, Jesse reached around her to dip his finger in the batter. Once she felt him smear the thick, cool mixture down her throat with his tongue following to lick it off, she knew she wouldn’t finish them for him.

Now, sitting up in bed with her laptop in front of her, her heart aches thinking of him, alone and cupcake-less in in London.

“How has your birthday been?” She’s trying to smile, as much as she can at four a.m. when she’s been throwing up all evening.

“Good, yeah, you know…I wish you were here,” he says, his gaze off center as he stares at her face instead of the camera. “But, it was as good as possible, I guess,” he settles.

“Yeah? Lots of well wishes?” she asks brightly. She’s desperately trying to keep the conversation on him and not how she’s been doing without him.

She kept the lighting low on purpose, hoping she could blame her pale complexion on the light from the computer bathing her face in a most unflattering way. She can’t tell him she’s been getting sick, can’t even think about what that could mean.

“There was cake before the show,” he shrugs. “And they tried to get me to go out after for drinks, but I wanted to get home to you.”

She tears up then; thinking if only he knew how much she wished he could come home to her.

“You should have gone out, had some fun,” she replies as enthusiastically as she can. She would have been heartbroken, but as always, she just wants him to be happy. “You only turn thirty once!”

“I didn’t want to,” he insists, and she could almost swear he’s pouting. “I miss you. I miss last year.”

That does it. She can’t stop the tears then, doesn’t even try.

Last year’s festivities had been the two of them watching movies back to back, pigging out on leftover Valentine’s Day candy, with Rachel finishing knitting a scarf for him. His head in her lap made it a little more difficult, but that was okay.

_Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, Casablanca,_ and _Man’s Favorite Sport?_ were the choices for the evening, mutually agreed upon, even though Rachel insisted it would be fine if he wanted to watch something filled with explosions and busty blondes.

He just stared at her blankly when she suggested that, and she fell even more in love with him.

The memories only make being an ocean away from him that much more difficult.

“It’s not too much longer,” she mumbles, reaching for a tissue. “Just a few months.”

Even as the words leave her lips, she can’t believe she didn’t say _an eternity_ instead. Because that’s what it feels like to her, right now.

He closes his eyes, running a hand down his face, and she wraps her arms around her stomach because she can’t wrap them around him.

“We’ll be okay,” he says, and she knows he’s doing everything he can from where he is. Everything is starting to unravel for her, but that’s not his fault, and he shouldn’t have to deal with this on his birthday.

“Yeah, I know. I didn’t mean to--”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Rachel. You miss me, and I love you for that, but I don’t want you to be upset.”

He changes positions, and suddenly the computer is closer to him, his face filling almost her whole screen.

“How was the rest of your day?” she asks, dropping the subject of her emotional state. “I’m sorry I missed you earlier, I was…busy.”

She was throwing up when he tried to catch her on skype before the show, so it’s her own fault she has to be up this late. Or so she tells herself.

“Good. Jana sent me an email, passed along love from my mom and dad. You can just cash the check they sent, put it in your bank account.”

He’s used to it by now, but she still isn’t. She’s used to parents that make you breakfast in bed on your birthday, cutting one of the pancakes into your age and laying in on the top, dusted in powdered sugar so it stands out. She’s used to love and personal gifts being heaped upon you the entire day, and how a plain card with a check for three thousand dollars is just okay with him, is beyond her.

“Are you sure? Jesse, that’s a lot of money…”

“You need it, right?” he asks, like that’s the only thing that matters.

“Well, _yes_ , but I--”

“Then take it. I don’t need it.”

“I’d rather have you back,” she replies immediately.

“You were my only birthday wish,” he confesses, looking down and picking at something on his keyboard. He looks back up after a beat, almost like he hadn’t meant to say that out loud, and says, “So, you should keep the money. We can blow it on a trip to Vermont when I get home if that’ll make you feel better.”

“Much,” she grins, hiding the fact that she wishes so many things could be different.

They spend a few seconds just staring at each other, trying to pick out changes that may have happened since the day before when they spoke, before Jesse breaks the spell.

“You should get to bed,” he tells her reluctantly. “No offense, sweetheart, but you look like shit.”

“And what girl doesn’t love to hear that,” she says, an edge in her voice as she glances at the saltines and ginger ale on her nightstand. “It’s four thirty in the morning here.”

Normally, even after him saying something like that, she would insist on skype-sex before letting him go. But tonight, she just didn’t feel it. If he can’t be by her side to hold her and stroke her hair, she just wants to shut her laptop and cry herself to sleep.

“I know it’s late, but…thanks for staying up.”

He sounds so grateful, so in love with her, and she blinks the tears away, promises, “Always. I’m here, always. I love you, Jesse. Happy birthday.”

 .   .   .   .   .

Rachel sighs as she enters the small coffee shop. Stomping snow off of her boots on the carpet by the door, she scans the tables and armchairs for her best friend.

Tucked away in a corner with two dark teal velvet chairs, Bethany offers a small wave before pulling her long, dark red hair into a ponytail.

Rachel smiles and nods, heading to the bar to order. Arriving at their cozy corner and setting her peppermint tea and biscotti down on the table, she thunks her purse down and roughly pulls off her scarf. Dropping heavily into the plush chair, Rachel heaves a huge sigh.

Bethany raises an eyebrow in her direction. “You alright, doll?”

Rachel’s sure to take a careful sip of her tea before answering, letting the warm, sharply minty liquid calm her stomach.

“I think I'm pregnant.”

.   .   .   .   .

Bethany freezes, her latte halfway to her lips.

“Are you sure?”

Shaking her head before burying her face in her hands, Rachel seems like she’s at the end of her rope, rapidly unraveling.

“I haven't taken a test or anything, but I'm late, I'm emotional, and when I don't feel sick I'm craving _meat_. I mean, Bethany, I haven't craved meat this bad since college.”

“Could you be anemic again? That combined with the stress of Jesse being gone? Try eating some chicken or something,” Bethany offers, hoping her friend is wrong.

“I ate a cheeseburger yesterday,” Rachel confesses quietly.

Bethany feels like she’s at a loss for what to tell her then. She sits there, opening her mouth to speak before realizing that she’s not sure how to help.

“I don't understand how this happened!” Rachel cries, running a hand through her loose, long hair.

“You and Jesse are careful, right?”

“Well, I'm on the pill, so we don't use condoms. But we're not irresponsible. I'm _on the pill_. That's its whole job, to keep me from getting pregnant.”

“Did you miss any?” she asks sensitively. She knows the last thing Rachel needs is to feel blamed. “Even one?”

“No! I knew I was going to see him so I was super careful. I took them at the exact same time, every single day.”

Bethany thinks back for a moment and then something connects in her mind. She looks at Rachel and sighs, knowing how much this is going to kill her.

“You were sick, doll. The only reason you were well enough to go to London was because of the _antibiotics_ from your doctor.”

Rachel sits there in shock for a moment, her whole body going numb. This is her fault.

“ _Shit_!”

.   .   .   .   .

Three hours, a lot of hyperventilating and a trip to the pharmacy later, they’re still talking about it. Rachel doesn’t even know if she’s pregnant yet, and somehow her life has become all about her maybe-baby.

“You're seriously not even gonna _tell_ him?”

“I'm not even sure there's something to tell yet,” Rachel sighs, opening the box of pregnancy tests and setting each of the three sticks on her bathroom counter. “Besides, if I told him he would be on the first plane back, and I can't let him do that to his career.”

“Shouldn't that be his choice?”

Bethany was always the voice of reason…Damn it.

“Maybe,” Rachel admits quietly, fiddling with the instructions. “I love him too much to tell him right now. Once I'm farther along I'll call him.”

Bethany looks at her for a long moment before she finally turns away with a sigh, her hand on the doorknob.

“I really hope you know what you're doing, Rachel.”

“Do you think I could lose him over this?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper, choked with fear.

They have that big, forever, destined by the stars kind of love that every girl dreams of. Bethany can't imagine anything tearing them apart. But...this might just do it.

Just before closing the door behind her to let her have her privacy, she says, “I don't know, Rachel.”

.   .   .   .   .

Neither of them are very surprised when all three pregnancy tests come back positive, and Rachel makes her way to the couch, unable to think of anything but the mess that she’s made of her perfect life.

She may have ruined her own life, but there’s no reason Jesse’s has to be as well.

Hiding it from him, in her mind at least, makes perfect sense.

“You guys are gonna have a baby, Rachel. He needs to _know_ ,” Bethany emphasizes, reaching into the door of Rachel’s fridge for a bottle of Snapple. Popping the cap off, she asks, “What are you gonna tell him when he comes home and you're huge?”

Sitting down on the couch next to her, Bethany stares at Rachel, compelling her to answer the damn question. It’s something that she has to be thinking about if this is the decision she’s choosing to make.

“I don't know,” Rachel mumbles from where she’s curled into the corner of the couch. She’s silent for a long moment, staring at the dark television in front of her, but then, in the smallest voice Bethany’s ever heard, she says, “I could not have the baby.”

She whispers it so hesitantly and quietly that it breaks Bethany’s heart. She sits there, staring at her friend for a second, saying nothing.

“No,” she tells Rachel finally, her tone quiet but firm. “That's not an option for you.”

“You did it,” Rachel fires back defensively.

“Yep. I sure did,” she says sharply. Taking a deep breath, Bethany launches into the speech she’s wanted to give since they started talking about this, “There are a few _big_ differences between you and me. I never wanted kids, but you always have. Chris and I had been dating for three months when I got pregnant; you and Jesse have been together for almost five years. I was twenty-one and barely able to take care of myself, but you're in a good place in your life and career for this. Take a break, write your musical, have the baby.”

“Jesse lives in Europe. This is hardly a good time to have a…baby.”

“So, _tell him_. I know him; he'll on the first plane back,” Bethany insists.

“Do you know the kind of hit his career could potentially take if he left a production two months in?”

“He won't care about that,” Bethany argued.

“But I do! I have to care about that, for our future.”

“Here's the bottom line, Rachel,” she said, laying it all out. “You can terminate the pregnancy. I will _not_ judge you for that. I'd go with you and we could come back here, you could change into Jesse's sweats, and cry yourself to sleep in my lap. But, Rachel, _I know you_. You would hate yourself, and I can't pretend like I think you'd be making a good decision.”

Rachel sat there thinking about what Bethany was telling her, playing the day out in her head.

“Remind me, what did your dads always tell you while you were growing up?”

That’s the final hit, just like she knew it would be; the thing to convince Rachel that there’s no running from this.

“Everything happens for a reason,” Rachel whispered.

.   .   .   .   .

“How do you feel about kids?” Rachel had asked shortly after their second anniversary.

It was in the middle of the afternoon on a particularly chilly St. Patrick’s Day, and they were sitting together on a bench near the pond in Central Park. Jesse had his arm around her, and Rachel’s eyes had wandered over to a young mother cleaning green frosting off of a toddler’s mouth. The chill of the day had made his cheeks rosy despite the coat, scarf, and hat that he was so carefully bundled up in.

It was adorable.

“I don’t know,” Jesse said. They both knew they’d put this discussion off long enough.

“My dads will literally kill me if I don’t give them grandchildren,” Rachel laughed lightly. But there was a distinct yearning in her tone that she knew Jesse would catch.

He was silent for a moment, wrapping his arm tighter around her shoulders.

“How many kids do you want?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, lying to him for the first time. “Maybe two?”

Jesse nodded thoughtfully, almost as if they were talking about the weather, but there was a look in his eyes that she’d never seen before.

“And you want them with me?”

Rachel practically choked on the air she was breathing.

“Um. Yes?” Wasn’t that why they were having this conversation? “That is, if you want kids.”

“I just--I don’t know, Rachel. How do you know I would be a good father? Look at my primary example.”

It was true that Jesse’s father wasn’t the warmest man on Earth, and certainly wasn’t as proud and overtly loving as her fathers, but that didn’t mean Jesse would be like that.

“What makes you think you’ll be like him?” Rachel asked quietly. “You once said that you loved me with every cell in your body. What makes you think you would love a child of ours any less?”

He hadn’t said anything after that, just grabbed her hand and took her home where he laid her out on their bed and made love to her.

She got it. He didn’t have an answer for her yet, but she knew he was thinking about it.

.   .   .   .   .

"Jesse," Rachel smiles into her phone seeing his name flash across her screen.

"Hey, gorgeous. How's the Big Apple?"

"Big. Cold. Lonely without you. How is London?"

He sighs wistfully and Rachel can picture him looking out his window at the bustling street below his apartment.

"London is great. I miss you so much, but I'm really happy to be here."

Hearing him so happy makes her smile, she can’t help it. It also makes her positive that she’s made the right decision in not telling him about the baby.

"Tell me more," she prompts with a wide grin.

"More about how I miss you?" he asks, chuckling.

"More about London!"

He tells her some stories about costumes gone awry in hilarious ways and some anecdotes about escorting the man that plays his brother home drunk. He tells her about the show two nights ago when one of the understudies had to step up and blew him away.

"You sound happy," Rachel says with a slight waver in her voice.

"You okay?" he asks quietly.

In that moment, she thinks about telling him the truth. She’s going to. But then he would be on the first flight back and his little bubble would be gone. His life would go from stage door signings and after show drinks to doctor appointments and baby books and furnishing a nursery. She can't do that to him. She can handle this on her own for another three months. Then, he would be back and whatever happens will happen. Rachel Berry never does anything half-way, and she knows once she makes this decision, there will be no going back.

With tears stinging the back of her eyes, she tells him in her brightest voice "I'm fine," and prays that he won't notice the untamable tremor lacing her tone.

.   .   .   .   .

She hides it from Chris for as long as she possibly can, knowing he’ll insist on Jesse being told. He and Bethany’s on again-off again _thing_ (technically they’re married following his birthday trip to Vegas last year) is off currently, so she doesn’t have to worry about her telling him.

Rachel and Chris have been writing their musical together for the past seven months, meeting at least twice a week. It’s a risk when he finally finds out, because she really does believe that he’s not above going behind her back and just telling Jesse himself.

There comes a point, though, where even _he_ starts to question all the breaks that she’s taking to the restroom during their writing sessions.

.   .   .   .   .

Rachel doesn’t tell anyone. Four people in New York know about her pregnancy, Rachel, her doctor, Bethany and Chris, and she’s about to make it five, but only because she has to.

Her director refuses to accept her vague excuse of “personal reasons” and she finally breaks down and tells him that she’s pregnant.

The conversation from that point on is tense, with Rachel explaining over and over again that with her ending her first trimester, she can’t move quite as well as she used to and her costume isn’t fitting anymore. She’s not a lead, she’s easy to replace, and she doesn’t understand why he’s being so resistant to letting her go.

“I’m sorry, but--As much as I would like to stay, I have to leave.”

“You have a tremendous amount of talent, Rachel. I’m sorry to see you go.”

It means a lot to her, and it’s the most professional validation she’s gotten in the ten years that she’s lived in New York, but…it doesn’t change anything, and she leaves his office with a meek “thank you,” and a promise to try out for his next show, once she loses the baby weight of course.

.   .   .   .   .

Jesse is downing a quick dinner, getting ready to leave for his show, when his phone rings. Not even thinking to check the ID, he picks it up, balancing the phone against his shoulder while he reaches for his sandwich.

“Yeah?”

“Hey man! How’s London?” It’s his friend--and he uses that term _loosely_ \--Kevin.

“It’s good. But, I’m actually on my way out--”

“Is Rachel enjoying it?”

That stops him short. Why does he think Rachel’s here?

“Rachel?” Jesse asks, confused.

“Oh. I just assumed when she left the show that she finally missed you too much and decided to move out there for the rest of your run…”

She left her show? That’s news to him, not that he’s going to say that to Kevin.

“No, no. She, um, she had other reasons for leaving,” he says vaguely, hoping to put an end to the questions there.

“Yeah, I heard she was butting heads with Peter. That’s rough,” Kevin rambles, clearly knowing more about Rachel’s life than Jesse does.

“Listen, I really need to go get ready for the show, but I’ll talk to you later?” he asks, not really leaving any room for disagreement.

“Sure, sure. Break a leg, dude!”

Well. For such a short exchange with such a complete idiot, it certainly was enlightening. Rachel had, apparently, made some big decisions without even talking to him. It was her career and she could do whatever she wanted, but something wasn’t adding up. She still told him what she had for lunch every day, so why hadn’t she mentioned this?

Jesse tries to finish his dinner, but finds that his appetite is suddenly gone, so he grabs a bottle of water on his way out of his apartment. The whole way in to the theatre he keeps replaying the conversation with Kevin in his mind, looking for any new clues. He can’t stop thinking about this, and that’s a big problem. He’s going to be off-balance the whole night, he can feel it.

.   .   .   .   .

After the show, he’s completely exhausted. Everyone keeps telling him that it was his best, most open, honest and emotional performance yet. He knows why, but he doesn’t tell anyone. Truthfully, he’s just glad no one thought he was distracted.

Because he _is_ distracted. All he could think about all night was _Rachel_ and what he was going to say to her when he finally spoke to her. When he gets home, he isn’t in the mood to talk to her. Actually, he is, but he knows if he talks to her now he’s going to end up saying something he would regret and he honestly doesn’t have the energy to try not to snap at her.

He sends her a text saying he’s beat and he loves her, but can he talk to her tomorrow? Her response is quick and sure, exactly what he was expecting; _of course_ and _I love you so much_ and _sweet dreams_.

That last one is completely out of the question at this point, but he tries anyway, because he knows he needs to be in a better mood when he calls her tomorrow.

.   .   .   .   .

By ten o’clock the next morning, he’s still not in a good mood, but he’s pretty sure he can talk to her without jumping to any wild conclusions or yelling. So, he calls. She doesn’t answer, and he calls again.

The call gets picked up and he doesn’t immediately hear her overly bright and cheery outgoing voicemail message, so he figures it’s her.

“You left the show?”

“Jesse? It’s…five a.m.? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” She sounds adorably confused when she first wakes up, but he pushes the thought away in an effort to keep himself on track.

“I’m fine, but still waiting for an answer.”

There’s a long pause on her end of the line and Jesse can picture her sitting up in bed with her tousled hair falling over her shoulders.

“…What was the question again?” she asks groggily.

“You left your show?” he repeats slowly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Another pause follows his questions but this time it’s heavy with the weight of potential dishonesty. He’s not sure he’ll be able to believe whatever she’s about to tell him.

“I left to focus on my writing. We’re so close to being done, and then you’ll be back in a few months and it just felt like the right time,” she mumbles with her mouth a little too close to the phone for the words to make complete sense.

He doesn’t really have a right to doubt her, he knows that. What she said made plenty of sense. But, still…something didn’t feel right. She hadn’t really answered his second question, and that was the one that really mattered.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks again, quieter this time.

“I don’t know. I just didn’t. Who _did_ tell you?”

“That doesn’t matter. It should have been you. We talk almost every single day, Rachel.”

“Well, it’s my career, so I don’t think I should have to run my decisions past you.” There’s an edge to her voice and Jesse forces himself to take a sip of coffee before replying. If he doesn’t, he’s going to say something he’ll regret later, something like how she’s such a fucking hypocrite.

“When I took this job, it was a three-day fight with you. You decide to quit your show and you don’t even _tell_ me?”

“I’m not your wife, Jesse. I’m not accountable to you.” There was a slight bitter edge to the statement, but he’s not about to tell her that she could have been his wife if she hadn’t driven him out of the country.

“What are you hiding from me?” She only got defensive like this when she wasn’t telling him the complete truth. Rachel isn’t a very good liar, but she’s learned to cover that up by deflecting the attention away from her with accusatory comments.

“I’m not hiding _anything_. And, frankly, I resent that you would even think to imply that I am. You woke me up at five a.m. just to interrogate me? No, thank you.”

“I’m just asking you to talk to me! Why is that so fucking hard for you?”

.   .   .   .   .

He’s making this so much harder on her and he has no idea that he’s pulling at the one thread that he should leave alone. Throwing the covers off angrily, she paces at the side of the bed for a moment before stomping to the bathroom.

She doesn’t have a good answer for him. She committed to this lie a while ago, and revealing the truth now wouldn’t do anyone any good. Still, as she looks at her changing body in the mirror, she starts to feel her resolve slipping.

“Quit playing games and _talk to me_.”

He sounds almost desperate and she has to close her eyes tightly to try to keep the tears at bay. She needs to get off the phone right now, otherwise she’ll start bawling and he’ll buy a plane ticket.

“I’m _not_ trying to play games,” she insists with as much conviction as she can muster when it’s five in the morning and she’s on the verge of an emotional breakdown.

If he hears the quiver in her voice through the trans-Atlantic connection, he doesn’t call her on it.

“Fine,” he says, just a little too calm and quickly for her to feel comfortable. “Don’t talk to me. I guess I was under the clearly mistaken impression that we were in a _relationship_.”

“Jesse, don’t,” she whimpers as she starts to cry, pressing the phone into her ear painfully. If he doesn’t stop now, she’s going to tell him, she can feel it. “ _Please_ , don’t.”

“I’m just asking you to tell me _why_. What happened that made you leave?”

He sounds so much like he’s at the end of his rope and about to hop on a plane. She steels herself, getting ready to lie, as she feels nausea that has nothing to do with morning sickness rising up inside of her.

She needs to tell him. This whole thing is getting out of hand, and she doesn’t even know what she was thinking trying to hide it. Suddenly feeling panicked, she tries to take three deep breaths so that she’ll actually be able to physically get the words out.

“I’m pr--” The word gets caught in her throat, coming out as a sound that could easily be confused for a breathless cough. Jesse doesn’t even question it, staying impatiently silent on his end of the line and waiting.

That’s when she realizes that no matter how much she wants to tell him, she just can’t. She’s hid it from him for too long at this point and there’s no way she could possibly explain herself over the phone, or worse, Skype. She doesn’t know how he’s going to find out, or what happens after he does, but she knows it can’t be now.

“I don’t know,” she tells him quietly, choosing to live with the lie a little longer and looking down at the as of yet small baby bump her tank top is stretched across. “I guess I just didn’t want you to worry. Writing and being available when Chris was were getting hard to balance. And then there was the added stress of you being gone, and I just…needed a break from something, so I chose the show.”

She closes her eyes, tipping her head back as the tears stream down her cheeks, praying he believes her and that he didn’t catch her slip.

“Why was that such a secret? Christ, Rachel. I understand that things are hard for you right now, but you have to talk to me about what’s bothering you.”

“I guess I didn’t want you to feel like you being in London was too much…or something. Because it’s not.”

His end of the line is silent for a long while, Rachel holding her breath every second.

“I wish I could be back home with you,” he whispers finally, and she imagines he’s sitting in the chair in his living room, his shoulders relaxing a bit as the words leave his mouth.

“I know. I wish you were here, too,” she says just as quietly, leaning her hip against the counter, looking at his side of the sink.

“Really?” he asks, settling in to have one of their more normal conversations.

Under any other circumstances, she would roll her eyes, because he always does this. Emotions run hot and high and then he tries to just pretend like nothing happened. It’s the side effect from a WASP upbringing, she’s sure. She was raised quite differently, with her fathers sharing their feelings and allowing a safe space for her to express herself as much as she felt she needed to. The differences in how she and Jesse handle emotional situations are often difficult for her to reconcile.

But, _this_ morning and after this _particular_ conversation, she’s grateful for his way of pushing things aside, because it means that she won’t be asked any more questions that she doesn’t have answers to.

“Really. I’m beside myself trying to find a use for all this free counter space now that your hair crap is gone.”

“Admit it…you miss it, don’t you?” She can practically see the dimpled grin that she knows he’s wearing.

“I certainly miss _you_. If you have to come with the outrageous hair products, so be it.”

Her throat tightens unexpectedly and she thinks his must have, too, from the way he’s trying to clear it on the other end of the line.

“I better let you get back to sleep--”

“Jesse,” she interrupts, making absolutely sure he hears what she’s about to say. “I love you and I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you--”

“It’s okay. I overreacted. I love you, too, Rachel. Get back to sleep.”

“Okay,” she says softly before they both hang up, wishing she had actually been honest with him.

.   .   .   .   .

When she’s seventeen weeks along, she starts craving peanut butter morning, noon and night. And all she wants to do is tell him. Because peanut butter is his favorite and because he would get a kick out of the fact that the craving, his baby, finally got her to eat it again. Magic.

On the other side of the ocean from him Rachel is carefully curling up on the couch in the apartment they have shared for the last three years. She lifts the sleeve of his old UCLA hoodie up to her nose and inhales the scent of his cologne. Tears fill her eyes and start to fall down her cheeks.

It’s moments like these that make her wish she’d told him.

.   .   .   .   .

Jesse runs down the sidewalk, swiftly dodging people and their umbrellas. A couple of fellow pedestrians throw dirty looks in his direction as his boots send puddles splashing up against their shins. But, honestly, he doesn't give a fuck.

He’s back in the city he loves, on his way to see the love of his life. Nothing else matters. Not the way he’s about to collapse from jet lag, or his show’s run being cut short…nothing but Rachel.

His pace slows slightly as he approaches the club, and he comes to a stop at the curb. For a moment he just stands outside, rain soaking through his clothes, looking at the door. She’s in there, singing. He’ll finally get to see her after so long.

As he walks through the door, his eyes instantly lock on Rachel.

She’s sitting on a stool in the center of the stage, one leg crossed delicately over the other, a microphone in one hand. The song she’s singing is far from her usual style, slow and heavily featuring the acoustic guitar player beside her. But, like most music, it suits her. Her voice smoothly caresses the notes coming from the guitarist.

He listens to her sing, and he just can't help but be in awe of her.

_Give me_  
_Just one part of you to cling to_  
_And keep me_  
_Everywhere you are_  
_It's just enough to steal my heart and run_  
_And fade out with the falling sun_

_Oh, please don't go_  
_Let me have you just one moment more_  
_Oh, all I need_  
_All I want is just one moment more_  
_You've got to hold me and keep me_  
  
Those lyrics, tumbling sorrowfully from her lips...there's no way it isn't about him.

"Hey."

Bethany sidles up to him, slowly stirring the drink in her hands, pulling him out of his revelry.

His only response is to slowly let out the breath that had caught in his throat at seeing Rachel for the first time. Seeing her, in her element and singing her heart out, he misses her more now than he did in London and he’s only a few feet away.

It doesn’t seem possible for his heart to ache so much and yet be so full of hope at the same time.

_You've got to hold me and maybe I'll believe_  
  
"You okay?" she asks, fully taking in his appearance.

He shakes his head no. He’s not okay. He’s been missing half of himself for months, and there she is in front of him, looking a hell of a lot more broken than she did when he left her.

"I went to the apartment first. I forgot she had this standing gig." His eyes are glued on Rachel. She’s signaling to her guitarist, moving on to another sad, acoustic song, and shifting slightly on the stool. Seeing her count in her head, waiting for her cue, he can’t help but think he somehow forgot how natural she is at this.

_Strange how hard it rains now_  
Rows and rows of big dark clouds  
But I'm holding on underneath this shroud  
Rain  
  
"What's up with her set list?" he asks, suddenly worried. Rachel _is_ her music. Sometimes what she chooses to sing speaks volumes about how she’s feeling, even before she allows herself to fully connect with the feeling.

_It's hard to know when to give up the fight_  
_Some things you want will just never be right_  
_It's never rained like it has tonight before_  
_Now I don't wanna beg you baby_  
_For something maybe you could never give_  
_I'm not looking for the rest of your life_  
_I just want another chance to live_  
  
She’s hunched over and her hair is hiding her face from view. Panic twists hard in his gut and he suddenly finds himself wishing, hoping, praying she would straighten up and brush her hair out of her eyes. After almost four months of living in another country, he needs to see her.

Something’s different. Immediately, he knows that much, but he…can’t quite put his finger on it. The dress she’s wearing fits her a little differently than it had before, and she fills it out a little better. He almost could swear that her breasts look bigger.

He tells himself that it’s been too long since they had sex, that his mind is playing tricks on him or that he’s trying to distract himself from how much he missed her.

"She's okay. Just...been really lonely."

He was going to say something bitchy, like, "whose fault is that?" But instead he just clenches his jaw, keeping his eyes fixed on the stage.

Without realizing what he’s doing, his feet carry him to the very edge of the stage, and then up the steps.

He’s standing three feet away from her, just behind her, when the guitarist stops playing and Rachel’s clear voice rings out on one last line before she turns around on the stool, scowling at the person clearly slacking off.

Only then she sees Jesse, and he barely has time to react before she’s in his embrace. He closes his arms tightly around her waist, lifting her feet up off the ground. He buries his face in her neck, deeply inhaling the familiar scent of her perfume, their apartment, and something else. It’s the scent he will forever recognize as his Rachel, and even dead tired, he smiles.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he grins against the thick curtain of dark hair in front of his face, thankful to have her in his arms again. “Miss me?”

She pulls back, looking torn between slapping him for making light of her distress and kissing him from sheer relief at his being home, before she settles on the latter and surges forward, molding her body against his and reaching up to tangle her hand in his wet hair.

It takes about a second for his tongue to find its way into her mouth, moving with hers and savoring the taste of the kiss.

They break apart after hearing a whistle that only could have come from Bethany, Rachel blushing as she turns to the audience announcing “My boyfriend, ladies and gentlemen, has returned to me from a foreign country!”

She’s beaming when she turns back to kiss him again, the smile overtaking her entire face.

“Come on,” Jesse whispers in her ear, “let’s sit…or just go home.”

She laces their fingers together, raising her eyebrows at him just before he turns to face her to help her down the steps. The laugh dies on her lips when she sees where his eyes have landed.

He grips her hand tightly, carefully guiding her down the steps of the stage, and once her feet are firmly on the ground, and that’s when he notices it, really sees her for the first time. Her dress, damp from the hug, is clinging to her body in a way it hadn’t before he left. Her breasts are definitely larger, her face fuller and glowing, even in the dim light.

For just a second, he can’t let his mind connect the thoughts. He can’t process this, because it’s simply unfathomable. She loves him; they’ve been together for years. She wouldn’t hide something this big from him, not _this_.

But, still, there’s the problem of the distinct baby bump staring him in the face.

“Are you okay?” he asks, careful to keep his tone even and calm.

“I’m-- What are you doing back?”

Explaining that his show’s run got cut and that he wanted to surprise her is suddenly the least important thing in the world to Jesse. The most important thing is the woman who, from the looks of it, has been lying to him for months now.

.   .   .   .   .

The door to the apartment has just barely shut, Rachel locking it in an effort to keep their fight contained, when he turns to her, demanding some kind of explanation. Her condition is even more obvious in the light of their apartment, especially with her rain-damp dress clinging to the new curves of her body.

“You’re--” He can’t finish the question, can’t _believe_ that she would hide this from him.

“I’m sorry,” she sobs, trying to take his hand only to have him walk away from her, over to the window, prying his fingers from her grip.

He never, ever thought he’d be asking Rachel this question, but considering the rumors he’s been hearing for the past few months…he has to.

“Is it mine?”

Her face crumples instantly in response. Anger, hurt, confusion, and so many other emotions are suddenly coloring her features, tears streaming down her face.

“ _Of course_ it’s yours,” she whispers violently, her voice breaking. “How could you even _ask_ me that?!”

“I haven’t been here, Rachel! I move to London and all of a sudden I hear about fights with your cast mate and you’re leaving the show without telling me-- What am I supposed to think?” he booms.

He’s on the other side of the room, at the window, and her ears still hurt when the words reach them, he’s so loud.

He’s never been this angry before. He didn’t know it was possible to look at Rachel and feel anything other than love. Even when he was angry with her, the love was _always_ there. But, now, he can’t imagine that they’d ever get back to that place.

He’s sure he still loves her. He wouldn’t be this pissed if he didn’t, but it’s lost in a sea of hatred and betrayal.

“I did this for you, because I love you,” she whispers in between sobs, grabbing a box of tissues off the coffee table to blow her nose. “I didn’t tell you about the baby so that you could stay and finish the play! Jesse, I was thinking of your career, of our future.”

“You can’t-- You say that like…it matters,” Jesse replies, laughing even though nothing about this is even remotely humorous.

“I…made a mistake, I know that--”

“A mistake?” Jesse asks incredulously, cutting her off. “You didn’t forget to give me a message, Rachel! You made a calculated decision to lie to me for months. I can’t just forgive you for that! I’m…not sure I ever can.”

“What are you saying?” she asks carefully, one hand on her stomach that Jesse all of a sudden can’t take his eyes off of.

“I think that I need some time alone. I need to not be here…with you.”

He brushes past her, hoping they won’t touch, but as he does she reaches out to grab his elbow. It’s too much, and he can’t believe that he’s actually leaving her.

“ _Don’t._ ”

Making sure he slams the door behind him doesn’t bring any relief to the ache in his chest that’s spreading through his whole body.

.   .   .   .   .

He barely manages to catch the last train out of the city. Most of his stuff is still in the apartment, but he took a bag of clothes when he left. He jogs to the train, and makes it just in time, in true dramatic fashion.

He _left_. That thought really hits him for the first time, really sinks in, as he takes a seat. As the train starts to leave Grand Central, Jesse pulls out his phone and sends his brother a message.

_I’m on the train to Westport. Come pick me up in an hour._  
  
The response is immediate, and exactly what he expected.

_WTF? Why?_  
  
He doesn’t send him an answer, because at least this way he knows that Jeff’s curiosity will get him to the train station on time. Over the next hour, he’ll get four more texts from him, each asking the same question, and every time Jesse will have to stop himself from saying _because I’m your fucking brother and I need you to_.

This is probably the worst night of his life.

On the train, as he’s fleeing the city that’s been his home for practically his entire adult life, Jesse St. James cries for the first time since fourth grade.

This time it’s not about an uncool lunch box, the fact that he preferred playing pretend with the girls during recess instead of playing kickball, or anything else insignificant. It’s real this time.

He’s more hurt than he ever has been before, but he’s also pissed. He’s pissed at Rachel for lying to him, and he’s pissed at himself for finally letting someone in for real, for starting to build something real with her, only to be completely betrayed.

What the hell kind of man doesn’t know that their girlfriend is pregnant? What kind of man allows for a dynamic to exist where she feels comfortable lying to him like that? What kind of man walks out on his pregnant girlfriend?

He chooses to ignore the last question that floats through his mind, tears of hurt, pain, anger, and frustration still steadily streaming down his cheeks.

Thank god he’s not sobbing, he thinks, sinking into the seat and hunching over even more. The last thing he wants is for anyone to notice him.

His phone is on silent, but he’s been getting a steady stream of calls and texts since he left. Rachel calls him over and over again, leaving messages every time. Bethany’s texts are angry and threatening. Chris just offers to talk to him about the situation.

The train pulls into the Westport station and Jesse calls his brother to make sure that he’s actually here to pick him up.

“Where are you?” He knows he’s not here. He’s probably sitting at home watching porn or playing World of Warcraft. That’s a pretty standard midnight activity for Jeffery St. James.

“I’m at home…” He _knew_ it, but it still pisses him off.

“I’m at the fucking train station, Jeff!” he screams into the phone. “Get your ass down here!”

All he wants is to go to bed somewhere and try to forget that this day ever happened. This has been the longest, most awful day of his life.

“Do you understand that I woke up in _London_?” he asks thirty minutes later, when he finally climbs into his brother’s Audi.

“Nah, I didn’t know that. Why were you in London?”

Jesse has to count to ten before he finally, with barely restrained anger dripping from the words, says, “Just get me to a bed. Now.”

.   .   .   .   .

Every single time her phone does anything, she thinks it’s him. Every beep, chime, ring and buzz has her convinced that he’s calling and that she’s finally going to have a chance to convince him to come home.

The morning after he left her phone rings and she answers immediately, without even looking at the screen, hoping that it’s him.

“Jesse?” asks breathlessly, still half-asleep.

“Rachel?”

It isn’t him. It’s his dick brother, and she forces herself to take a breath and reply instead of just hanging up.

“Jeffery, what do you want?” She normally has the patience for Jeff’s nonsensical half-baked rambling, but not today, not without Jesse.

“Why did I pick my brother up from the train station at one a.m.?” He sounds mildly concerned and Rachel thinks that Jesse must not be doing well if he’s able to rouse this level of involvement from his brother. She feels the knot of guilt she’s been carrying around since the night before double in size, and she presses her free hand to her stomach in the hopes of stopping the ache from growing. It doesn’t help.

“He’s with you?” she demands, her heart suddenly racing. At least now she knew where he was. “Is he okay?”

“Um, I guess? I don’t know. He’s locked in my guest room.”

“Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid,” she tells him quietly, hoping he’ll actually listen and realize that Jesse needs a brother right now, not someone to encouraging him to do anything rash.

“Can you just come get him, please? Fix this?” Jeff whines into the phone.

“I wish I could,” she responds sadly. “I’ve been trying, but until he’s ready to talk to me, there’s nothing I can do.”

“Shit,” he mutters, sighing. “What do I do about it?” he asks, sounding thoroughly confused about how and why he got involved in this.

“Please look after him,” Rachel pleads, knowing Jeff wants to pass the responsibility to anyone willing to take it. “I just… _please_.”

“I’ll…I’ll try, okay? I’m not the right person for this job.”

It might be the most honest thing she’s ever heard him say. Jeff is the baby of the family, five years younger than Jesse and a full eight behind Jana, and he’s never had to be the one to look out for anyone else.

“You’re his brother,” Rachel reminds him, running a hand through her tangled hair. “He has _always_ helped you when you needed it.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Rachel feels herself tearing up, and she needs to get off the phone before she makes Jeff any more uncomfortable than she knows he already is.

“Tell him…I want him to come home?” she asks, waiting for him to agree before hanging up.

Trusting part of her relationship to someone else terrifies her, but she doesn’t really have a choice. She just hopes that being with Jeff helps Jesse to see that he misses the person waiting for him at home.

.   .   .   .   .

Rachel is sitting on the window bench in her apartment putting the finishing touches on the lyrics for the second duet of her musical. It’s upbeat and vibrant, fun and flirty. It’s everything she doesn’t feel right now, and she knows she’s writing complete crap.

Packing up the papers and tossing them aside, she pulls both of her feet up to the bench and stretches out in the late-May sun.

It’s quiet moments like these that she can think of nothing but Jesse and the mess they’re in.

She rests her hands on her stomach and realizes that her baby bump is noticeably bigger than it had been two weeks ago. It seemed to be growing more and more every day.

She’s thinking about calling Jeff to check up on Jesse since she still hasn’t heard from him when a buzz comes from the intercom next to her front door.

Padding over to the door, she tugs at the hem of her t-shirt that used to fit very well, but these days would barely cover her.

“Yes?” she asks into the box, sounding very confused.

“Surprise!”

Oh. Dear. God.

“You guys,” she laughs nervously into the intercom. “What are you doing here?” She hopes she sounds appropriately excited enough for her dads.

“We wanted to visit!” Leroy tells her speaking far too loudly into the box, as usual, and she can picture his grinning face.

“For my birthday!” Hiram chimes in cheerfully. “Let us up, baby!”

_Baby_.

Panic sets in as Rachel pushes the button for the lock on the front door.

In all of the mess that was her personal life, she hadn’t yet told her fathers that she’s pregnant. She knows they’ll be happy to have a chubby new little baby to spoil come next Hanukkah, but…they’re going to be pissed that she didn’t tell them.

And then there is the issue of Jesse to deal with.

They’re outside her door, knocking in their signature pattern, before Rachel has a chance to change her clothes, clean up, or even prepare herself.

“Hey,” Rachel smiles, using her best showface and the front door to hide her belly, as they enter the apartment.

“Oh, darling, were you surprised?” Hiram is all smiles and bouncing steps, as usual, and it puts her a little bit at ease as she shuts the door, still not facing them.

She takes a deep breath, listening to them chattering on about their trip and the cab ride over (Leroy makes an effort to make friends wherever he goes). She knows they’re just content to have her there to listen, aren’t really expecting her to say anything.

There’s a pause in the conversation and her Daddy asks, “Are you okay, honey bunch?”

“No,” she says, turning to face them.

Rachel watches the realization set into their faces, and her stomach is suddenly tied up in knots. She realizes she should have told them, but she wasn’t telling anyone, and then Jesse came back and suddenly her life became about how to live without him next to her every morning and kissing her goodnight every evening.

“I--I’m so sorry,” she rushes to tell them, starting to cry. “I know I should have told you guys, but everything’s been so fucked up.”

Her dads hate to hear her swear, but before she can even take a breath Hiram’s arms are around her and he’s guiding her over to sit at the kitchen table.

“Honey, tell us what happened. What’s so messed up?” he asks patiently as ever, preparing to interpret her sobbing words for Leroy who’s never been able to understand her mid-cry.

“I just--I really screwed up,” she begins, swiping at the tears rolling down her cheeks. “I got pregnant and…I didn’t tell Jesse.”

“Even though he’s…the father, right?”

“Yes!” she yells, glaring at Leroy to make it extremely clear that he should feel grateful that he’s all the way across the table.

“I think your Daddy is just wondering why,” Hiram whispers gently, tucking the hair at her temple behind her ear.

“It all seems really stupid right now,” she hiccups. “But I didn’t want him to miss out on a great opportunity because I got careless and forgot to tell him to wear a condom while I was on antibiotics.”

Leroy gets up to pace the room then, and Rachel is glad that her graphic detail had the desired effect of making him uncomfortable.

“Where is Jesse now?” Hiram asks, doing his best to keep his hysterical daughter on track.

“Connecticut,” she sniffles, the tears coming even faster. “He went to his brother’s house when he found out I’d been hiding this from him.”

Even through her tear-blurred vision she sees the way Leroy’s jaw clenches when she says that.

“I’ll be back,” he mutters darkly, moving with purposeful steps toward the door.

Rachel is out of the chair as fast as she can be, almost tripping over herself.

“Daddy, no!” she wails, planting her bare feet on the hardwood floor and pulling on his arm to keep him from reaching the door. “He just needs some time and space!”

“He can’t do this to you,” he tells her seriously, moving with her back into the kitchen. “Rachel. That’s not the kind of man we’d hoped you would end up with.”

This is what Rachel has been hoping to avoid. The looks, the judgment, the sympathy; it’s all too much to deal with. She just wants to lie down right now.

“Someone needs to go talk to him,” Hiram whispers over her head, cradling her to his chest. Rachel feels like she’s five-years-old again and they’re deciding who is going to talk to the neighbors whose son stuck gum in her hair. It’s so _parental_ and comforting, and she’s grateful to have them here.

“I ain’t gonna do much talking.”

Rachel practically feels Hiram’s frown, and she knows she’s going to hate what he’s about to say.

“I’ll go,” Hiram decides. “Rachel, honey, get me the address from your book.”

“Why do either of you have to get involved?” she cries, throwing her arms up in frustration, but moving to her wardrobe for the address.

“Because we love you,” is Hiram’s immediate reply. Typical overly-concerned and involved Jewish parent, she thinks, handing him the bright pink post-it note with the address.

“And because no one hurts our baby and gets away with it,” Leroy adds, clearly angry at the thought of his baby girl being alone at a time like this. “You better not let him off the hook.”

“I’m going to talk to him, not beat him up,” Hiram responds, reassuring a frowning Rachel.

She could feel it in her bones. Their involvement was not going to fix anything, and it might just make things worse.

At least Jesse wouldn’t be coming out of this with a black eye, she thinks as the door closes with a click behind Hiram.

Now alone with Leroy, she could feel the tension building.

“So, do you want some coffee? All I’ve got is decaf,” she mumbles, turning towards her cabinets. She opens four wrong doors before she finds the one with the coffee in it…right above the coffee maker. She’s flustered and tense and so stressed.

“Rachel,” her Daddy’s gruff voice washes over her, and she loses it again, starting to cry.

“Fucking hormones,” she half-screams and half-sobs as his arms close around her shoulders.

“It’s gonna be just fine, honey,” he whispers patiently.

“You don’t know that.” She’s shaking her head, a hopeless look coloring her features. “What if he never forgives me? I’m not strong enough to handle that. I can’t…do this on my own.”

Leroy takes a very controlled breath and Rachel can tell that he’s trying to reign in his temper about Jesse and focus on her. This is one moment where it’s very clear to her how much her father loves her. The fact that he’s not leaving her apartment in a rage on a mission for Jesse’s balls is a testament to the things he would do for her, the lengths he would go to keep her happy.

“First, you _can_ do this on your own. You don’t want to, but you are certainly strong enough,” he replies more uncertainly and less patiently than Hiram would. But the words are heartfelt, and she can tell that he means them. That means a lot.

“Second, I don’t think you will have to do it on your own. Jesse is bound to come to his senses in the next…what? Three months?”

Rachel lets out a watery chuckle at the confused look on his face. He could be gruff and overly-protective, but very sweet and adorable at the same time.

“More like five,” she mumbles, running a hand over her stomach. “But thanks for telling me I look way more pregnant than I should.”

He recognizes the teasing tone in her voice, she can tell by the twinkle that shines in his eyes.

“Hey, I don’t know anything about this stuff,” he defends quickly.

Her tears are drying and she suddenly realizes just how much she needs to relax right now. Heaving a huge sigh, she narrows her eyes at the large, intimidating man in front of her.

“Wanna share a bowl of ice cream?”

She heats up some Nutella and peanut butter in the microwave and pours it over a huge serving of vanilla ice cream for them. She hands him the spoon and clinks the tip of hers against his, instantly falling into an old tradition that developed over late night chats about nightmares.

“I just don’t want you getting hurt,” Leroy grumbles a few tense, silent moments into their snack.

“I know. I appreciate that, Daddy, but…I did this to myself,” she mumbles before taking another bite.

“You should have told him,” he concedes firmly, using a tone she used to hear when she neglected her actual homework for working on scales and adding to her youtube account. “But that doesn’t excuse the way he’s acting.”

“He’s hurt.” She shakes her head, trying to excuse his actions to one of the men that so lovingly raised her. “I can’t blame him. I have no idea how I would react if he hid something like this from me.”

“I don’t care what you did,” he insists firmly. “He’s the man. He should have stayed here and talked to you instead of running away.”

Rachel doesn’t know what to say to that. How can she argue with that? Underneath all the layers of guilt that she felt remembering his face from the night that he found out, she thought he was being a coward, and possibly unnecessarily cruel. She wants to try to fix it, but she can’t do that until he agrees to see her.

“You really think he’ll come back?” she asks, scraping the bottom of the bowl ten minutes later.

“I think he loves you too much not to,” Leroy begrudgingly admits.

.   .   .   .   .

“Dude. When the fuck are you _going back_?” Jeff asks harshly, walking into the living room and digging in a bag of potato chips.

Jesse rolls his eyes. _Some brother_. The only reason he cared--in the _loosest_ sense of the word--about Jesse working things out with Rachel was that having his big brother there was cramping his usual habit of getting baked and playing World of Warcraft every night.

“I’ll stay as long as I want. I let you sleep on my couch for a _month_ when you dropped out of college,” Jesse replies disinterestedly, while he scribbles something on his calendar. “Luckily for you, I just got a call, and I have to go back for work, so. I’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

The doorbell rang halfway through Jesse’s statement and Jeff mumbles, “Thank god,” stuffing more chips into his mouth on his way to the answer the door.

“Yo?”

“I’m…looking for Jesse St. James?”

_Christ_.

Jesse knows that voice. He has a pretty good idea of why Hiram Berry is standing on his brother’s front porch.

“He’s here,” Jeff chimes in helpfully, moving aside to let him in. “Just in the living room.”

“Jesse?” Hiram’s head pops around the corner, and for a second Jesse just sits frozen on the couch.

“Mr. Berry. I should have expected she’d send you.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, something changes on Hiram’s face. His expression hardens for just a second, a gut reaction to Jesse’s tone about his daughter, before softening into something resembling a combination of sadness and empathy.

_Empathy_ reminds him of Rachel, and he tries to push thoughts of her aside and cling to his anger.

“You and I need to have a talk,” Hiram sighs, sinking down in the armchair opposite Jesse. “I have a very upset daughter in New York.”

Very upset. _How_ upset? Is she _okay_? Is she taking care of herself? Is-- _No._ He doesn’t care, he tells himself, refusing to recognize the lie in that statement. She lied to him; she’s not allowed to make him want her back.

“Then you should be there with her, and not here,” Jesse whispers, his tone ice cold.

Hiram doesn’t even flinch when he leans forward to look Jesse straight in the eye, and this is honestly one of the only times he’s seen him do anything other than smile.

“Listen to me, Jesse. She’s not _just_ my daughter anymore. She’s your family, whether you want to admit it or not, whether you like it or not. She is the mother of _your child_. Even if you’re mad at her and understandably so, you owe it to my grandchild to at least _try_ to fix things.” Hiram’s steady gaze never leaves his face. He’s practically challenging Jesse to tell him that he won’t go back to Rachel.

“I can’t just _pretend_ like she didn’t make a huge fucking mistake,” he tells Hiram in a rare moment of honesty. He doesn’t know how to get past this with her. Truly, he doesn’t _know_. She’s never hurt him like this and he didn’t even know she _could_ hurt him like this.

Unlike Rachel, he wasn’t raised to just forgive people. When someone hurts you, there’s a debt and until that’s repaid, you’re just…in limbo. He hates her right now, and he’s clinging to that. Because if he hates her, then he doesn’t hate himself for leaving in the first place, and more importantly, he’s not in pain.

If he were to let go and actually absorb the whole situation--the lies, the pain, the baby, the uncertainty of his future--he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t know how to get out of bed. Rachel had been a game-changer for him, Jesse “I Don’t Get Involved” St. James. He was so involved right now; it would disgust his younger self.

By all his calculations, which he wished he hadn’t done as soon as he’d finished them, she was due in mid to late October. That gave him about five months to get past this or find a good attorney.

“She’s pregnant, Jesse. Can’t you just--”

“No!” he screams. “Her being pregnant doesn’t give her a _pass_ on this! She _lied_ to me! For _months_ she lied, over and over.”

He thought he had something with her. They’ve spent four years building up a level of trust that she had _sworn_ could survive him moving to London. Then he came back, and she just…pulled the rug out from under him. As someone who had spent most of his life not even relying on his own family, it pisses him off that she destroyed that trust, and it pisses him off that he’s not strong enough to get it back. He wouldn’t even know where to begin.

“She’s sorry. You _know_ she’s sorry,” Hiram argues fiercely, standing toe-to-toe with Jesse, almost daring him to disagree.

“She should have thought about what she was doing. She fucking played god with _my life_! I’m _not_ okay with that, and I can’t just forget it happened.”

The more that her father tries to defend her actions, the angrier Jesse gets. It isn’t fair that she gets to lie to him for months and then have her dad come track him down to argue her case. He can’t _believe_ that he’s actually starting to feel guilty for being mad at her.

“She’s a mess,” Hiram says a moment later, clearly remembering how heartbroken his daughter was. “I’m honestly worried about what will happen if you don’t come back. If you don’t think she’s feeling guilty enough to make her sick right now…She just--Part of her is missing.”

Jesse knows Rachel, and as much as he doesn’t want to think about her being in just as much pain as he is, it’s damn near impossible with her father standing there pleading her case. Thinking about Rachel making herself sick, he suddenly feels compelled to give her--and himself--some hope. He wants to be strong enough to let this go and forgive her, but he just isn’t.

“You can tell her that…I’m going back to the city on Monday,” he tells Hiram, walking over to the door to send a clear message. Trying to convince him to come back to the apartment right that second and fix it would be useless. He isn’t ready.

“Can I tell her that you want to forgive her, but maybe you just don’t know how?”

Jesse can’t do anything other than shrug. He isn’t about to commit to forgiving her completely, but it’s still Rachel, and he feels an instinctual pull to fix everything.

.   .   .   .   .

Rachel feels her heart drop when Hiram buzzes the apartment to be let in. Jesse isn’t with him.

“I’m sorry, baby.” He immediately envelops her in a hug, and Rachel realizes how much faith she had in her father. She didn’t think it was possible for either of her dads to fail at anything. Fathers are supposed to be able to fix anything and hers had always lived up to that expectation.

_Fathers are supposed to do a lot of things_ , her bitter mind fires back at her as she walks to the sofa on autopilot, and she feels the baby give a little kick.

It’s been doing that a lot more lately, kicking and punching and moving. The movements still feel mostly like vague little flutters, but sometimes she thinks she can maybe imagine that she can pick out a foot or a hand.

It’s a lot harder to forget that she’s alone _and_ pregnant with the baby constantly reminding her that it’s there. It was difficult enough for her when she started showing and she still hadn’t told Jesse. This was so much worse because she couldn’t just guiltily avoid mirrors and try to forget. She couldn’t run from this reminder.

Rachel is jolted back to her reality when she realizes that her fathers are both looking at her, waiting.

“What do you think about that, sweetie?”

“What? I’m sorry, daddy. I didn’t hear what you said.” She was too focused on her heart that chose to stay in Connecticut today.

Her fathers share a look, and in any other situation she might have been suspicious, but she can’t devote any of her extra energy to that at the moment. She’s just trying to get from one moment to the next.

“We want to send you to a spa for a few hours tomorrow,” Hiram repeats gently, running a hand down her arm and patting her hand.

“You need a break, baby girl,” Leroy adds sympathetically.

“I can’t,” Rachel says as she shakes her head insistently. She can’t think about anything but Jesse and getting ready to have this baby, even if it’s without him. She doesn’t have time for a trip to the spa, not when there’s still a nursery full of junk. “What did Jesse say when you talked to him?” she asks Hiram desperately.

“He-he’s just not ready quite yet,” he tells her gently. “He’s still very hurt, but he did tell me to let you know that he’s coming back into the city on Monday.”

“Is he ever going to be ready?” she wonders aloud feeling dangerously close to crying again. “Why is he coming back to the city? Where is he staying?”

“He didn’t say. I’m sorry, honey.” Hiram brushes his fingers through her hair, and Rachel feels the comfort of countless heart-to-hearts and hair-braiding sessions fill her chest. Maybe she can survive this with their support. Sitting in her living room, surrounded by so much love, she doesn’t know why she didn’t tell them sooner.

“Rachel, baby, please go get some sleep. It’s late, and your dad and I can make up the pull-out sofa for ourselves.”

Rachel wants to protest, she really does. She wants to insist on making up the couch for them, or even on letting them take her bed, but she just can’t. She’s so tired, feels so pregnant, and today had been unexpectedly long, so she lets Leroy gently guide her in the direction of her bedroom without protest.

“Do you ever want to go back in time and change one decision?” she asks quietly, leaning against the doorjamb to her room.

Her dads glance at each other sadly before Hiram reminds her, “Everything happens for a reason.”

Rachel bites her lip, nodding.

“I really need some sleep, but thank you so much. I needed you guys here and I didn’t even know it,” she smiles sadly, enveloping them both in a huge hug.

Leroy whispers “Sweet dreams, darling,” while Hiram kisses her cheek, and the tears she’s been holding in finally fall as she closes her bedroom door.

That night, even as bone-tired as she is, it’s nearly impossible for her to get to sleep. She thinks about Jesse every night, missing his arms around her, so that part’s not new. But this night she’s thinking about the tiny bit of progress that had been made today.

He would be back in New York, and that’s…something. She has no idea _what_ , but it is something and she’s going to cling to the glimmer of hope she’s feeling.

.   .   .   .   .

Jesse scrolls through his cell's contact list to a name he never thought he'd be dialing in this situation.

Bethany picks up on the third ring.

"Hello?" She’s confused, but he catches something else in her tone. She’s not entirely surprised.

"Hey."

After a lengthy pause she says, "You called me, Jay..."

"I need you to do me a favor."

"Jesse," she sighs. He knows that sigh. If what he’s going to ask is going to hurt Rachel, she will find him and fuck him up. That sigh is actually a warning, and he’s quick to placate it.

"Just--Just keep an eye on her, okay? Sneak me an update or two?"

“Talk to her,” Bethany urges firmly. “She…has reasons.”

Reasons doesn’t automatically mean _good_ reasons, he reminds himself, wishing like hell that he were actually strong enough to call _Rachel_ and talk to her himself.

"I…can’t right now."

"Just so you know, I think you're both being idiots," she tells him, and he can practically hear her rolling her eyes.

"Yeah. Me, too."

.   .   .   .   .

He gets back into the city and goes straight to the W Hotel to check in. Its modern design is something that Rachel would absolutely hate, and that fits. He doesn’t want to be surrounded by classically romantic décor that Rachel would love. He doesn’t want to be reminded that Rachel even exists.

.   .   .   .   .

It’s a huge mistake. It’s the biggest mistake he’s ever made, which is saying something, and he knows walking into the bar just how big of a mistake it is. He _knows_ , but he tries to tell himself that he doesn’t care.

Tonight is about testing the waters and looking down the road not taken. It’s not about his responsibilities or his future. He’s trying to lose himself in what could have been and he’s determined not to think about anything else.

“Lauren.”

She turns and smiles at him, her cherry red lips, bright blue eyes, and honey blonde hair all standing out in the dim light of the bar.

“Jesse,” she grins, her eyes sparkling.

He’s always wondered if her lips taste as good as they look, and he’s sure he’ll get to find out by the end of the night.

The conversation is slow-going and full of the usual bullshit. He’s not here to catch up with her, and he couldn’t give less of a fuck about her life. But so many women need the illusion of a deeper connection, so he sips his scotch and waits for his opening.

“Where have you been hiding yourself lately?” she asks lazily after her fourth Cosmo.

“Around,” he drawls, swallowing guiltily. “I'm looking for a new place at the moment, so I have a hotel room at the W.” It’s not the whole truth, but it’s not exactly a lie, either.

“Oh, really? Are those nice?”

He still knows a leading question when he hears one, even if it has been a while since he's done this. There’s only one correct response, and he doesn’t think about it twice.

“How about you come see for yourself?”

.   .   .   .   .

They're all over each other in the cab, and Jesse only hesitates for a second before he lets his hand wander underneath her skirt. The driver must have seen his split second slip of fidelity because for the rest of the ride, he keeps looking at Jesse like he should be ashamed of himself.

He should, but he keeps telling himself that he and Rachel aren't even officially still together. He left her. He shouldn't be feeling guilty about this.

He repeats that mantra to himself as he pushes Lauren up against the wall of the elevator, kissing her until she's flushed and senseless.

She’s pretty, and he’s always wondered what it would be like to be with her, but he doesn’t have any trouble pulling away from her to get the key card into the slot and easily let them into the room. His and Rachel's first date as adults ended in a similar situation, except that time he barely managed to get them in his apartment before she was completely naked.

But he's not thinking about Rachel tonight. He tries to remind himself to focus on the woman in front of him, and he tugs her over to kiss her roughly. It’s a hard, bruising kiss and there’s absolutely no feeling behind it on his end other than anger and lust.

Lauren pulls away from him suddenly, a coy smile gracing her kiss-swollen lips.

“Sit on the bed. I've wanted to do this since I first met you...”

She could be anyone at this point if he’s being perfectly honest, which he’s not. He doesn’t care about her; he just wants to forget about his life for tonight.

“Like the taste of cock, huh?” he drawls lazily, raising a single, condescending eyebrow at her as she kicks her heels off. Leaning back on his palms and letting his legs splay over the edge of the king-sized bed, he shifts his hips a little bit, getting ready for her next move.

“Mm-hmm,” she hums, that same smile still playing at her lips as she sinks to her knees between his legs. She licks her lips, nibbling on the lower one while she unties the halter top of her dress. She slowly brushes her hands down over her full breasts as she moves the fabric aside, exposing herself and drawing a soft gasp from her lips.

It would take the motherfucking Pope not to get hard looking at that.

The look on her face when she leans forward and wraps her hands around his belt buckle is one of complete enthrallment. She wants this…badly. As she gets his pants open and pulls his cock out, Jesse tries to ignore the voice in the back of his head that's screaming that this isn't right.

The first touch of her lips is good. _Really_ good, actually. After all, it’s been more than four months since he’s had the company of anything more than his hand. She starts to run her tongue up and down his shaft, and the good feeling begins to shift into something else.

This isn’t right. Suddenly he can’t think of anything other than Rachel, in their home, just a cab ride away. Rachel, who has done this so many times she knows him almost better than he knows himself. Rachel, who he had been planning on proposing to. Rachel, who’s _pregnant_ with his child. Rachel, Rachel, Rachel.

The voice can’t be ignored any longer and when he looks down and sees a _blonde_ head bobbing up and down in his lap, he feels physically sick. He can’t go through with this.

“Stop. Get out,” he grunts through gritted teeth, pushing at her shoulders.

She sits back on her heels and looks up at him, suddenly angry.

“I have never had _anyone_ refuse head from me.”

“I’m not just anyone,” he dismisses her, tucking himself back into his pants. She’s still not moving and he gets up to haul her by the elbow over to the door. “I asked you to leave.”

He doesn’t even care when he throws her out into the hall topless, tossing her shoes out after her.

.   .   .   .   .

Every single day for almost three weeks, Rachel waits for him. For eighteen days in a row, she stops at the bakery next to her apartment, picks up an orange-blueberry muffin and a decaf coffee, and goes to his favorite area of Central Park to wait for him. Every morning for eighteen days, she hopes to see him. Every morning for eighteen days, she leaves disappointed.

On the nineteenth day, her heart leaps into her throat as she finally sees him round the corner.

“Jesse,” she calls, stepping into the middle of the path in front of him.

Stunned, he stops in front of her, his eyes locked on her face. He’s breathing heavily from his run, but he doesn’t even take out his headphones. He just utters a quiet “No,” and then runs away from her.

.   .   .   .   .

On the twentieth day, she’s waiting on the bench again as he passes by. This time, he stops. He can’t avoid her any longer, no matter what the knot in his stomach would have him do.

“What do you expect me to say to you?”

“I don’t know.” She’s starting to cry and he has to look away from her face, focusing on the tree behind her. It kills him to know that she’s hurting, drowning in guilt. He reminds himself that she would be crying anyway if he came back, and he’s not ready to do that yet.

“Would you do it again?” The question is quiet, but it carries the future of their relationship of its back.

Her silence is all the answer he needs.

The next day, she isn’t waiting for him, and after that Jesse changes his route through the park so he doesn’t have to be reminded that she ever did.

Seeing her had been pure torture. The hope and pain that was on her face was almost too much for him. At this point, he’s not sure whether he’s staying away because he’s still mad or because he’s not ready to face up to his actions.

.   .   .   .   .

It’s two a.m., just about a week after he last ran into Rachel in the park, when he’s woken by a phone call. He rolls over in his king sized bed that feels way too empty without her and grabs his cell phone from the hotel nightstand.

“What?” he grumbles into the phone.

“Jesse?” The girl on the other end of the line is crying, sobbing, her voice breaking and cracking. One word never carried so much heartbreak.

“Bethany? What’s wrong?” His heart speeds up, beating faster and faster with every second. Not Rachel, it _couldn’t_ be her. _Please God, not her, not yet._

“It-It’s Chris. He--Oh, God.”

The weight on Jesse’s chest eases up, but only a little bit. It’s not Rachel, he tells himself over and over again.

“Where are you?” he asks, entering crisis mode, thinking he was ready to deal with whatever was happening.

“We’re at St. Luke’s.”

“I’m leaving now.” He didn’t need to ask to know who “we” was.

.   .   .   .   .

They’re huddled together in the chairs in the waiting room, clinging to each other like they’re scared tomorrow will never come.

Rachel can feel Jesse when he enters the room, and she’s never been more grateful for him than this moment.

“Bee,” she whispers against Bethany’s temple, her voice thick with tears. “He’s here.”

Bethany raises her head to look at Jesse, and Rachel knows the moment when it registers with him how serious this is. He looks pale all of a sudden, and Rachel slowly untangles herself from Bethany, murmuring, “I’ll fill him in.”

She’s itching to take his arm, to hold his hand, to be wrapped in his embrace. Instead, she nods to a quiet corner of the waiting room.

“What happened?” he asks, watching Bethany out of the corner of his eye.

Rachel wraps her arms around herself, over her stomach, and thinks it’s a poor substitute for Jesse while she tries to find the words.

“He was…on his motorcycle. We don’t know w-why he wasn’t wearing his helmet.” She honestly does not know how she manages to get the words out. Her arms tighten around her, suddenly feeling so cold and alone standing two feet away from the man she loves.

“Who’s his doctor?” He’s all business, that’s why they called him.

“Peter Murphy. Here,” she says, handing him a slip of paper. “You need a code to get information on him.”

Her fingers brush against his for the first time since he stormed out of their apartment, and Rachel imagines that she can feel his heartbeat in that fraction of a second.

Then he’s gone, and Rachel’s crying for more than just Bethany and Chris.

.   .   .   .   .

Jesse takes a moment at the nurses’ station to compose himself while he waits for the doctor. Seeing Rachel had been harder than he thought it would be. Seeing her now reminded him of how much he had to lose.

“Mr. St. James?” The doctor startles him out of his thoughts. Now is not the time or the place, he reminds himself.

“Jesse, please,” he corrects, shaking the other man’s hand.

“Jesse, would you like to sit?”

“No, I’d like to know what’s going on with Chris,” he says, using a tone that really doesn’t leave any room for argument.

“He came in with a traumatic head wound. The details of the accident are…unclear.”

“Where is he now?”

“In surgery.”

If Jesse knew anything, he knew that short answers were never good.

“Be honest with me, what do you think?”

The doctor looks at Jesse for a long moment before saying, “In twenty years of doing this, I’ve never seen someone with a head wound like his…If he survives, he probably won’t have a good quality of life.”

Jesse has no idea how to break that to Bethany. She, Rachel and Chris have been friends since the first week of college, but…It was different with Bethany and Chris. They had the kind of bond that most people live their whole lives and never find. They were planning to grow old together and race wheelchairs around the nursing home.

_Fuck_.

_Why_ wasn’t he wearing his goddamn helmet?

“Thanks. I gotta…”

The doctor nods solemnly, and Jesse’s suddenly grateful that his job only involves acting out a tragedy, and not witnessing it every day.

.   .   .   .   .

Bethany is sleeping when he gets back, her head resting in Rachel’s lap. Rachel is stroking her hair and humming a lullaby under her breath, and Jesse is struck by how surreal this moment feels.

They all should be safe and resting in their beds right now.

Rachel’s other hand is resting on her noticeably rounder belly and she pulls it away quickly, almost guiltily, when Jesse clears his throat and comes over to sit across from her. He knows how hard this must be on her, and he’s determined not to make it any harder by broaching…certain topics. But a voice in the back of his mind tells him that he won’t be able to avoid dealing with it for much longer. There’s a due date coming up on them, after all.

“We should…let her sleep,” Rachel sighs.

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly, his eyes inadvertently drawn to her stomach.

“What did you find out?”

“It’s not good. But we don’t know anything for certain yet.” He tries to smooth it out, keep it vague, but Rachel isn’t stupid. He can practically see her bracing herself for the bottom to drop out at any second.

“Okay.”

“How are you doing?” he asks her softly. He reaches out to her because one of her best friends is dying, and she’s still the girl of his dreams, love of his life, and moth--That’s a line of thinking that could go somewhere he’s not quite comfortable with yet.

“I’m okay.”

“You don’t look okay,” he presses.

“I just--I haven’t eaten,” she admits quietly. She almost sounds embarrassed, and it breaks his already shattered heart.

“You’re kind of tied up here. I can get you something,” he volunteers.

“I’ll be fine.”

“No. You need to eat,” he insists. “What do you want?”

He holds her gaze for a long moment, almost daring her to fight him on this. He’s reaching out to her, and after a moment she realizes that. Something in her shifts and she shrinks away from him a little bit, looking back down at her sleeping best friend.

“Just some juice and crackers or something,” she finally requests.

“That’s it?” he asks. “I don’t know much about…whatever, but you have to eat more than that, right?”

“I don’t think the cafeteria is open right now,” she says, glancing at her watch. “Just…something from a vending machine is fine.”

“I’ll be back,” he whispers to her as he slips out the doorway.

In the hallway, he stops to take a deep breath and get his bearings. This is the most interaction he’s had with Rachel in the month that he’s been back in New York. Seeing her just makes him remember all the things about her that he’s been trying not to miss. Watching her hold Bethany, hearing her hum a lullaby, it makes him realize that they don’t have as long as they think to get their shit together. There’s a baby growing inside her, and it’s going to be born one day soon, whether they’re ready or not.

He remembers seeing a vending machine near the nurses’ station, and he trudges down the hall, digging in his pocket for change. They’re out of the cheese crackers (not that he was going to let her eat that artificial shit to begin with) and he gets her the peanut butter ones. She doesn’t like peanut butter, but she can deal, he thinks, pushing the button for a bottle of cranberry juice on the other machine.

.   .   .   .   .

“All they had was peanut butter,” he tells her.

She smiles just a little and gratefully takes the package of crackers and bottle of juice from him.

“I actually…like peanut butter these days,” Rachel says quietly before opening the crackers and taking a small bite.

“Really?” He can’t hide his surprise at that. She had hated peanut butter for as long as he’d known her.

“For about two months now,” she nods, smiling a little. “I go through about a jar a week.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. It’s on the tip of his tongue to ask about it, but…That would open up a conversation with her that he’s not ready to have. He can’t ask her about cravings and doctor appointments and nursery wallpapers. He’s just not ready.

“How…are you doing?” he asks finally, hesitantly.

.   .   .   .   .

Rachel feels like crying. Hormones and stress and relief at Jesse _finally_ speaking to her piles up against her chest, and she barely keeps the tears in check.

“I’m…okay,” she tells him, unsure about how much he really wants to know.

“That’s good. Is everything with th-the baby…?”

“The baby’s perfect,” she assures him quickly. “I saw my doctor recently, and everything is great.”

Rachel moves her hand to rest lightly over Bethany’s ear, worried about waking her but unwilling to let this conversation with Jesse slip away from her.

“Do you--I mean, have you found out the gender?”

“I wanted to be surprised,” she tells him with a shy smile.

“Rachel Berry wants to be surprised?” he asks, thoroughly amused with the concept.

“I do,” she admits, blushing. “Some things in life are worth waiting for.”

_Like waiting for you to come home._  
  
Just then, she feels the mood in the air shift. It’s suddenly heavy again and she stuffs a cracker into her mouth to avoid saying anything that will make him leave. She needs him to stay right now, because all of a sudden all she can think about is her friend that the doctors are desperately trying to put back together.

The spell is broken and she shrinks back into herself, hunching over as much as she can in a futile attempt to hide her belly.

As much as she has enjoyed being pregnant, there’s been a shadow of her own making hovering over the experience. She felt an all-consuming guilt sitting here in front of Jesse, and she thought if she could hide the evidence of her betrayal, then maybe she wouldn’t feel so bad. She was wrong.

“Christian Perry.”

There was a young woman, maybe twenty-six, standing in the doorway. Her bright red hair stood in stark contrast to her pale blue scrubs, and Rachel thought it was strange that she was noticing that right now. Everything is going to change, in what way she isn’t sure, once they get the news about Chris.

She looks up at Jesse with wide, pleading eyes, begging him to just handle this for her. Bethany is still asleep in her lap, and she’s going to use that as her excuse for not having to confront this news head-on, but Jesse won’t let her.

He comes over to her and puts his jacket underneath Bethany’s head so that Rachel can slip out of her chair. Then he takes her hand, and Rachel swears her heart stops beating for a second.

.   .   .   .   .

Lacing his fingers with Rachel’s just feels right in the moment. He’s still so angry with her, but he loves her and he’ll support her however she needs him to right now, even if that means making her hear news about Chris firsthand.

“I’m right here. It’ll be okay.”

She nods, but tears are starting to stream down her face and the woman hasn’t even said anything yet.

“Are you Christian Perry’s family?”

“Yeah,” Jesse tells her. “How is he?”

“I’m Dr. Rose, one of the residents on his case. He’s being moved into post-op. His surgeon will be down to talk to you in a little bit,” she tells them solemnly. Normally, surviving a surgery would be a good thing, but Jesse gathers from her tone that this wasn’t necessarily the case here.

Beside him, Rachel takes in a too-deep breath and he squeezes her hand to remind her that he’s right here with her.

“When can we see him?” she asks, clinging tightly to Jesse’s hand.

“Not for--oh.” The girl’s pager goes off, interrupting her. She glances at them before excusing herself, saying, “I’m sorry, just…one second.”

“Do you think that was about him?” Rachel asks immediately

“I don’t--I don’t know,” Jesse mumbles, tightening his grip on Rachel’s hand. He has a very bad feeling about this.

The young doctor gets off the phone and walks back over, her face wearing a much more guarded expression.

“Mr. Perry’s attending physician will be down to speak with you shortly. You should sit down to wait.”

At that, the feeling got worse, and he could see that Rachel was picking up on that.

“What do we do?” she asks, panic edging her voice. “We need to wake her up.”

“Yeah,” Jesse agrees quietly. “We really do.”

.   .   .   .   .

The doctor comes into the waiting room in a rush, and looks right at Rachel when he asks, “Mrs. Perry?”

Jesse’s hand slides across Rachel’s knee, and she covers it with her hand that’s not tied to Bethany’s.

“That’s me, actually,” Bethany whispers. “Please tell me he’s alive.”

“He’s alive,” the doctor begins cautiously. “It’s going to be very touch and go for a while, but if he survives the next week, then his chances improve. We really are just taking it one step at a time right now. I fixed the damage as best I could, and the bleeding has stopped. Now, we just have to wait and let his body try to heal itself.”

“Could--I mean, will he be…the same?”

It was a scary question, but it had to be asked at some point.

“That question is impossible to answer,” the doctor explains regrettably. “It’s just too early.”

.   .   .   .   .

Later, after hours of questions and forms and being told repeatedly that they couldn’t see Chris, they finally leave the hospital. All together, the three of them go back to Rachel’s apartment. The cab ride is completely silent, and Rachel feels cramped in the middle seat, but it’s almost a good feeling. They left the hospital because it was finally safe to, because his life was no longer hanging by quite so thin of a thread, and she is cramped between two people that she loves more than anything.

After Jesse pays for the ride, he takes Rachel’s hand and punches in the code for their building. It’s so casual, so normal; so much like their life had been before he left for London.

In the elevator, Rachel takes a chance and leans her head against his shoulder, hoping that he wouldn’t pull away. He doesn’t, and she feels the flicker of hope grow even stronger.

Jesse uses his key to let them all in, and Rachel sets about doing the only thing she thinks she can right now: taking care of Bethany.

“Here,” she says, settling her on the couch she’s just made up for the night. “Try to rest. Do you need anything?”

A small shake of her head and a sliver of a grateful smile send her off to her room where she finds Jesse.

“Are you staying?” she asks him hesitantly, stripping off her t-shirt on her way to the closet for a tank top and shorts to sleep in.

If he’s surprised or disgusted by the way her body looks now, his face doesn’t show it. He just meets her gaze with the same expression he always has before. Though, she feels like she wasn’t imagining the way his eyes lingered on her breasts before softening into something that looked distinctly like love.

“If you’ll have me,” he responds, waiting for a beat before moving to strip off his own shirt and sliding out of his pants.

She doesn’t even bother to actually answer him; she just slips under the covers and settles in to sleep on her side of the bed. She curls herself around her body pillow, twisting her limbs until she’s in exactly the right position.

Jesse’s hand moves over to rest on her hip, and Rachel thinks she might be sinking into the best night’s sleep she’s had in months.

.   .   .   .   .

_She’s hugely pregnant, almost unfathomably large, standing in the baking sun in a black dress that only gets hotter with every passing second. The pumps she’s wearing sink into the grass, and she feels tears streaming down her face as she watches the scene unfold in front of her._

_Bethany is wearing clothes that Rachel dressed her in that morning, standing over the grave with the most heartbreaking look on her face. She steps to the very edge of the grave, and her expression changes. It turns into something painfully raw, and Rachel is suddenly worried that she’s going to throw herself in._

_With unsteady, tentative steps Rachel goes to her. This woman has become like a sister to her over the last ten years, and her body is aching with the need to take her pain away. Wrapping her arms around Bethany, she takes a staggering step back away from the grave and fights to keep her in her embrace._

_They’re both sobbing now, and Rachel can feel her grip on Bethany slipping. They fall, collapse under the weight of the sorrow of the day, and Rachel desperately tries to soothe the cries coming from her sister’s chest._

_She feels her bare knees land in the warm, wet grass--  
_  
She jolts awake in her bed, breathing heavily, her green cotton comforter clenched in her fists. Her tank top is soaked with sweat, and her mouth feels completely dry. It was just a nightmare, just a nightmare, only a nightmare, she tries to tell herself over and over again.

“Are you all right?” A familiar muscular arm slides across her, his hand settling on the side of her belly.

Rachel grabs Jesse’s hand, threading her fingers through his, thankful for having him here to anchor her to reality and not the world she just woke up from.

“Oh, I just--I had a nightmare.” She lies in the bed for another minute, listening to him murmur sweet, comforting things in her ear. “I have to check something,” she says abruptly, cutting him off to slip out of bed.

She tiptoes to the doorway of their bedroom and opens the door a crack to peek out into the living room. Letting out a sigh at her friend safely--even if not peacefully--sleeping on the couch, she feels even more assured that it really was a dream, not a premonition.

“I had to check that she was there,” she explains in a mumble, climbing back into bed next to Jesse. “It felt so real.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, wrapping his arms around her.

She buries her face into his neck, her ponytail bobbing as she shakes her head.

“I don’t even want to _think_ about it,” she whispers.

“It’s all right,” he whispers soothingly in her ear, stroking her spine with his knuckles. “Everything’s okay.”

“Is it?” She can’t help the bitter way that it comes out. Everything in her life is falling apart around her, and suddenly one of her best friends is clinging to his life by a mere thread and his wife is just barely holding on to her sanity. “It doesn’t feel okay.”

“Try to sleep,” Jesse urges, rolling her onto her side so he can curl up behind her.

Being touched by him, his hand settling on her belly, still feels foreign, and that’s just one more reminder of the damage she’s done. Once she hears Jesse’s breathing fall into the familiar pattern that tells her he’s asleep, she stops trying to hold the tears in. Silently, she cries herself to sleep thinking about the future that she might not get to have.

.   .   .   .   .

The next week is practically nothing but the three of them shuffling to and from the hospital. Jesse reads and explains forms, does his best to interpret doctor-speak for Bethany while he tries to make sure Rachel isn’t working herself to death. Rachel spends the week cooking and going to Bethany’s apartment to do laundry for her. She worries about her, and never strays very far in case she might need something. Somewhere around the fourth day, Rachel embraces her growing maternal side, and throws herself into it full-force during the day. Whatever Bee needs, she’s there.

At night, she curls up with a very real, very _there_ Jesse and lets him hold her. They don’t have a chance or the emotional energy to deal with their shit.

.   .   .   .   .

Eight days after the accident Chris is still alive.

That’s a mixed blessing, they learn from the doctors. To say he has a long way to go is a tremendous understatement, and that’s _if_ he wakes up. Bethany barely leaves his side, only allowing herself to be pulled away by Rachel when she insists that it’s time to eat, sleep, or shower.

Rachel’s phone chimes first thing in the morning to remind her that she’s got an appointment today. For more than a second, she thinks about calling and changing it. There’s too much going on, too much in her life right now. She doesn’t have the time or the energy to let herself be pregnant right now.

While she’s looking for a shirt to wear, Jesse reaches around her to get to something on the dresser and his hand brushes against the bare skin of her left hip.

“Are you okay?”

Sometimes he knows her too well, and she wonders for just a second how that could possibly still be true after everything that’s happened.

“I-I’m fine,” she mumbles, pulling a wine colored t-shirt on before turning to the closet for a skirt.

He doesn’t believe her. She can feel it. She knows he’s staring at her back with that infuriatingly patient expression he wears when he thinks she’s losing it.

“I have a doctor’s appointment today,” she tells him, busying herself with straightening her waistband so she doesn’t have to look at his face for a reaction.

He’s silent for a moment too long and she doesn’t know what to think about that. She doesn’t want to go by herself, and she really doesn’t even have the time to do it today. She starts to move past him to go make breakfast for herself before she goes to the hospital for the day, but he grabs her wrist before she reaches the door.

She should have known he wasn’t going to just let _that_ go.

“Can I come with you?” He sounds like he’s almost scared that she’s going to tell him no. She’s not prepared for that.

“Yeah,” she breathes, looking up at him finally. “I would, um, I would really like that.”

He nods, and she slips her wrist from his grasp and takes his hand instead.

“What time is it?”

“It’s at one, at Mount Sinai. We can--if you want, we can just go over together?” She hates herself for how she sounds then. She sounds so hopeful that it’s almost desperate.

But then Jesse smiles gratefully at her and leans down to kiss her. She doesn’t feel quite so ridiculous for hoping.

.   .   .   .   .

He’s bouncing his leg. That’s the first sign to her that he’s nervous. It’s also driving her nuts and ratcheting up the stress of this situation, which is the last thing she needs right now.

Leaning over, she places a firm but affectionate hand on his thigh.

“Honey, I need you to be still, please. Just--Stop that.”

She tries to occupy her mind by flipping through one of the five million pregnancy and parenting magazines that litter the waiting room, but nothing’s working. She’s too focused on what’s about to happen. It’s a standard visit they’re about to go into, but she’s never had Jesse at one of her appointments with her. She had no idea how he was going to react to listening to her talk about her pregnancy, let alone seeing the baby.

She imagines one of a few things happening. First, Jesse completely embraces his role as the father-to-be, right down to interrogating the doctor in order to get caught up on the rest of what’s happened in her pregnancy. Second, Jesse flips out seeing the baby and feeling how _real_ this all is for him all of a sudden, and he leaves for good. Third, Jesse pretends like this all doesn’t faze him and just moves on and slowly comes into his responsibilities, hopefully before the baby’s born.

She honestly has no idea which it could be, but she’s praying it’s not the second one. She can handle just about anything but him leaving her again.

“Rachel, we’re ready for you.”

It’s her favorite nurse today, the one that’s always smiling and bubbly, Tessa. She’s really made the visits without Jesse just a little bit more tolerable.

Rachel smiles back at her, standing, before she holds her hand out to Jesse.

.   .   .   .   .

Jesse links his fingers with Rachel’s, and he knows by the way she sighs and lets her hand relax into his grip that she wasn’t necessarily expecting him to take her hand.

As they start down the small, brightly-lit hallway, Rachel happily chatting with the nurse about how she’s been feeling, Jesse feels the nerves in his stomach start buzzing faster than they had been before, if that was even possible.

He has never felt this nervous in his _entire_ fucking life. Ever since that morning in the bedroom, he’s been thinking about this appointment. He knew it had to be pretty routine stuff at this point, and Rachel doesn’t want to find out the gender, so there won’t be any real revelations there, but…it was his _first_ appointment.

They get to the room after a brief stop at a scale, where Rachel blushed and got on and off as quickly as possible, and Rachel kisses his cheek before she hops up to sit on the exam table.

Jesse stands awkwardly, looking at the charts and diagrams on the wall, as the nurse takes Rachel’s blood pressure and temperature, asking her a few questions.

“No sexy paper gown?” he asks, brushing some hair back from her neck before resting his hand on her shoulder.

Rachel laughs, her giggles filling the whole exam room, bouncing off the walls.

“Sorry to disappoint, but these exams are less about _my_ body and more about the baby. So, no need for the gown when all they really need access to is my arm and my um--“

“Belly?” he finishes for her, smiling.

“Yeah, that,” she mumbles, rolling her eyes and sighing a little.

“Hey,” he whispers, moving his hand to rest it on her stomach. “Thank you for letting me come with you today.”

She nods, and he feels like shit for making her tear up right before her appointment, even if they do seem like happy tears.

“Thank you for offering,” she whispers back, leaning over to kiss him. Her tongue moves over his lower lip and, just as he’s about to deepen the kiss, the door to the room flies open.

Reluctantly, Jesse pulls away as the doctor breezes in. He smirks, watching as Rachel tries to subtly wipe away her smudged lipstick.

“How are we doing today?” The doctor smiles at Rachel, carefully noting Jesse’s presence in the room.

“We’re fine,” Rachel smiles back, still holding Jesse’s hand tightly.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” the doctor says, extending her hand to Jesse. He knows Rachel must have given her doctor details on their relationship, but if there’s a tone in her greeting, he doesn’t catch it. “I’m Dr. Levine.”

“Jesse,” he responds, flashing a smile as he shakes her hand.

“Nice to finally meet you, Jesse.” It sounds completely genuine to him and she smiles, but he notices that she doesn’t say that she’s heard good things about him.

The questions she asks Rachel all seem pretty standard to him, not that he knows anything about this.

The conversation with her doctor is the most he’s heard Rachel talk about the baby and her pregnancy. She talks about the little aches and pains that have been developing, some things she can do about the heartburn she’s been feeling, her diet, and then…the movements of the baby.

That part gets his undivided attention. He hasn’t really had the chance to feel any kicks or punches, but apparently his kid is up and active at all hours, day and night.

He catches Rachel’s gaze while the doctor sets up for the ultrasound. He has so many things he wants to say to her, so many things he needs to say to her.

“All right, Rachel. Are we ready?”

Rachel nods to her doctor, leaning back on the exam table and raising her shirt up over her belly. The second her hands are free, Jesse takes one of her hands in his and leans his other arm above her head. He wants the best view possible.

They turn the overhead lights out, and the only thing lighting the room is the lamp near the sink in the corner and the soft glow of the screen.

He blinks, holding his breath for just a second and when he opens his eyes again, he’s staring at a baby. It’s not a blurry blob or a grainy silhouette, it’s an actual baby. It’s his baby, and that thought makes him lock his knees to keep from falling over.

“Wow.”

“I know, pretty cool, huh?” Rachel smiles at him with tears in her eyes.

“Very.”

It’s maybe the most amazing thing he’s ever seen, and he can’t believe that he’s somehow become the kind of person that thinks things like that. When his sister told him that being a parent was the most rewarding thing she’d ever done, he thought she was full of crap. Now, he’s so filled with love for this almost-person inside of the soulmate he found at seventeen, he can’t imagine feeling any differently.

.   .   .   .   .

He takes her hand in the cab, and Rachel clings back tightly, dreading what she knows she’ll have to say to him soon.

She smiles at him as he helps her out of the cab, and holds the restaurant door open for her, one of his hands on the small of her back. It’s just like the old Jesse is back, and that thought makes her want to finally relax.

But she’s still worried. What if he’s not back for good? What if this just residual feelings from seeing the baby for the first time? She can’t let herself believe in him and then have the bottom drop out from under her at the last second. She wouldn’t survive losing him a second time; she’s certain of at least that much.

The waitress leaves after taking their orders and Rachel knows that this is the moment. She has to talk to Jesse. It’s now or never, and never is quite simply not an option.

“Are you staying?” she asks bluntly when he reaches for a roll. He brought his bags over from the hotel the day after Chris’ accident, but that was a crisis, it wasn’t a guarantee that he was back for good.

Jesse seems to be speechless for the moment, so she babbles on, the words pouring from her lips in a nervous rush. She has to close her eyes, because she just can’t bear to see his reaction to what she has to say next.

“Because, as you might have noticed, I have a baby coming. I need you to be back, or gone, but please, do us all a favor and make a choice so that I can get ready to have this baby.” Motherhood has already changed Rachel, because she never would have spoken to him like this before. She knows now that she has someone counting on her for _everything_ , and she can’t afford to let him or her down.

But she really wants for Jesse to be staying for good.

“I’m back,” he says after a moment.

She blinks a few times and it’s on the tip of her tongue to ask if that’s all he has to say to her. He wouldn’t have anything to do with her for more than six weeks, and now he’s just _back_?

When she sighs, tears starting to fill her eyes, it’s partly relief and partly frustration.

.   .   .   .   .

She could be making this so much harder on him. He knows that, and he’s grateful for how much Rachel loves him.

As much as he feels justified in being angry with her, he knows she more than paid her dues. He acted like a complete dick, and there was no getting around that fact. He’s about to be a father to the new little person that he met at the ultrasound today, and he wants to be the kind of father that his child can be proud of. He needs to be a man, and that starts here and now with taking responsibility for the way he acted.

“I’m sorry.” Those two words very rarely leave Jesse St. James’ lips, but here and now, he looks at Rachel and feels compelled to take on his part of the blame for the situation. It’s not all his fault, and he won’t ever admit to that, but he knows he could have and should have done more to help fix what got broken between them.

“For what?” She’s not about to make this easy on him.

“I shouldn’t have left,” he confesses quietly. “Going to Jeff’s didn’t help me feel any better, and I know it certainly didn’t help you any. It was just a…mistake.”

He doesn’t mention that other mistake he made. He’s determined to just get Rachel back first.

“Do you really mean it?” she asks, biting the edge of her lip as a tear manages to escape.

He swallows through the tightness in his throat a few times, loosening it up enough to be able to speak. “I do. I really should have stayed, and I’m sorry for all the time I cost us.”

“I’m sorry, too,” she mumbles, hesitantly reaching for his hand across the table. “I just want to move on.”

“We do have a lot to look forward to,” Jesse smiles, suddenly unable to stop staring at Rachel’s belly.

“We do, don’t we?” she laughs through the tears still in her eyes. She sits back in her chair a little and rests one hand on top of her belly. “I’m so happy about this. I know it wasn’t planned, but…I can’t help but be happy, you know?”

“I know,” Jesse responds quietly before he realizes that he’s still staring. “I’m happy, too. It took me a while to get here, but I really am so happy about this.”

“I love you,” Rachel whispers, looking across the table at him.

He can practically see her holding her breath, waiting for his response. He hasn’t said the words to her since the night he left, even though he’s been practically aching to. And it feels right now, in this moment, to seal their official reconciliation by telling her again and reminding her that he never stopped.

“I love you, too. I have from the first moment I saw you, and I will until the day I die,” he tells her firmly. “Even when I was angry and hurt, I still loved you. Even when I thought my life would be easier if I didn’t, I still loved you.”

He walks over to her side of the table, never letting go of her hand, and kneels in front of her.

“I will love you forever, with every cell in my body,” he vows, echoing the words he said to her years earlier, leaning in to kiss her.

It’s an awkward moment when the waitress clears her throat, a small smile on her lips when Jesse and Rachel break away. Rachel is blushing and Jesse is grinning, and they both can’t wait to get home.

.   .   .   .   .

He should have expected this. It doesn’t take very long at all for the guilt to take up residence in the pit of his stomach. It eats away at him as Rachel sighs contentedly and starts to trace a pattern into the skin of his chest.

“Are you okay?” she asks a moment later, looking up at him and laying a hand on his cheek. “You’re being…quiet.”

This is it. He has to tell her, and this is when it has to happen.

“No.”

The expression on her face changes in an instant from one of mild concern to panic and she sits up in the bed, shifting her body closer to him, though he didn’t think that was possible.

“What’s wrong? You don’t feel sick, do you? That’s all we need right now…”

She moves away from him to the edge of the bed and she’s about to leave to go get a thermometer or her cell phone, and he grabs her arm to stop her.

“I did something.” With those three words, everything changes. They both go completely still for a few heartbeats and he thinks about trying to take it back, even though he knows he can’t.

Rachel slowly pries her arm from his grip and asks a question that he knows she doesn’t want to. “What did you do?”

He hates himself for not being man enough to just tell her, hates that he didn’t tell her earlier, before.

“It didn’t mean _anything_ to me.”

“That’s not what I asked you,” she mutters, her eyes starting to fill with tears. She’s carefully watching his body language and the look in her eyes is practically daring him to evade the question again. “ _What_ did you _do_?”

He tries to find the words, but they just won’t come. Rachel is sitting at the edge of the bed, and he wishes that he could hold her or even only touch her, but that would just make things that much worse. The silence has stretched out too long, and he has to say something.

“I looked up Lauren Roth.”

Rachel bolts from the bed as soon as the name leaves his lips, and he’s not sure she actually wants to know anymore. She grabs her nightgown from the foot of the bed and quickly pulls it on; glaring at him as she tries to cover up the way her heart is breaking.

“What did you do?” It’s the only question she’s wanted an answer to this whole time, and she deserves to know. He gets that, but-- Once he says it out loud, it’s really happened and he has to finally deal with the consequences, and he doesn’t want to do that.

He slowly leaves the bed, approaching Rachel very carefully.

“It was when I first got back from Connecticut, I was really messed up, and I--“

“Tell me!” she explodes, cutting him off from throwing any other lame excuses at her.

“We met at a bar and then she came back to my hotel room.”

She looks like she was expecting that, but that it still managed to knock the wind out of her.

“Did you sleep with her?” she asks quietly, almost like she _wants_ him to lie to her.

He doesn’t have to lie to her to give her the answer she wants, but he considers not being completely truthful about how far things went. He knows Rachel would be able to tell, though. She already might never trust him again; he doesn’t want to take any chances.

“ _No_. But…”

“Say it.”

“She…started to…” He can’t even finish the fucking sentence.

But she knows anyway. She understands exactly what he was going to say, and she looks torn between punching him and crying harder.

“You let her…put your penis in her mouth?”

“It just…happened.”

*“Oh, my _god_. _Please_ , don’t say that to me,” she begs him, and he knows by the way her voice is breaking that he’s just making it worse for her by talking.

She’s taking one deep, shuddering breath after another and he’s starting to really worry that he made a mistake telling her. Then one of her hands flies to stomach and her gasps for air become almost desperate.

“Rachel--!” He leans forward, his hand just barely grazing her arm before she pulls away from him violently, taking a sharp step back.

“No! Don’t touch me,” she whispers through gritted teeth. Her face is red and tear-stained, her breath hitching in her throat as tears stream down her cheeks. “God, I feel _disgusting_! How could you do this to me?”

“I’m sorry.”

.   .   .   .   .

She ignores how genuinely sorry he sounds as she slams the bathroom door in his face. She can’t look at him right now, and it’s bad enough that she knows he’s going to be trying to talk to her through the door.

She _just_ got him back. Why _this_ of all things, and why _now_? She knew the second he opened his mouth that she was going to hate what he had to say. She’d felt the certainty settling in the pit of her stomach when he looked over at her like he was drowning in guilt.

She grabs the box of tissues off the counter and slowly lowers herself down to sit on the floor against the tub, trying to ignore Jesse’s pounding on the door.

She can’t think about anything but how betrayed she feels by him. Not only because he didn’t tell her when it happened or when he first started talking to her again, but because he _slept with her_ first. She feels sick all of a sudden and quickly leans over the toilet next to her, taking deep breaths, desperately trying not to throw up.

The aching and twisting feeling of nausea is finally replaced by plain old heartbreak and she sits back to catch her breath for a moment, listening to Jesse plead with her. From the sound of his voice and how close it is, _sweetheart, please just talk to me and let me explain_ , he’s sitting right up against the door. She tells herself that she doesn’t care and that he should be sorry.

She hasn’t told him to leave and she’s not sure she ever would, even now. But, how can she ever trust him again? Will this just be what he does now when they have a fight, him running and then fucking someone prettier than her?

Thinking about what he actually _did_ just brings back the feeling of complete and utter disgust, and suddenly it feels unbearable for her to even be in her own skin. She hoists herself up and turns on the hot water in the shower, still ignoring Jesse, determined to get this feeling off of her.

She steps under the spray hoping for some relief, but it never comes. If anything, she just gets more upset.

She starts thinking about all the things she and Jesse have shared over the years and all the things she had been looking forward to with him, and the feeling of devastation starts to overwhelm her. The first sob is unexpected, but then she just can’t stop. A floodgate opens up and she stands in the shower, crying her eyes out. She cries for all the mistakes that she’s made, for all the things she wishes she could change and most of all, for the future she had envisioned for her child.

Nothing will be the same after this, and she doesn’t know how to fix it. That thought loops in her mind as she stands leaning against the wall of her shower, one hand cradling her belly and the other trying to stifle the sobs breaking through her lips.

She gets to a point where she’s not crying anymore, but she’s hardly numb. She feels more raw than anything else, and as she steps under the now only lukewarm water to wash her face, she thinks she wants to at least try to fix this. She wraps her bathrobe around herself and takes a deep breath before opening the door to finally face Jesse.

When he’s not in their room anymore, she thinks she’s driven him away and lost him for good. With regret swelling up in her chest, she realizes how much she genuinely does want to move on from this. She loves him, even when she hates him. She needs him in her life, even when he hurts her.

Feeling betrayed and then abandoned on top of that is so much worse than just one or the other.

.   .   .   .   .

Once the shower turned on Jesse went to the kitchen. He went to the living room. He paced the entire apartment before stopping in the doorway of the nursery that Rachel’s dads so lovingly decorated for their grandchild.

For a second, he just stares at it, his eyes catching on small things, picking out details that only the two of them would have thought to include.

The walls are a soft butter yellow, gender neutral and just what Rachel probably would have chosen, regardless. There’s a rocking chair in the corner, big and plush, something that will be perfect for Rachel to curl up in and feed the baby, read bedtime stories, or just watch the city out the window. A soft, gleeful yellow duck wearing a necktie sits in the seat now, and as Jesse sinks down against the wall, he can’t take his eyes off that damn duck.

He can’t believe that his one rash decision could cost him all of this. Before Rachel, he didn’t care about family and he didn’t think he had a use for them.

As he waits, hoping that coming clean now was enough, he can only pray that she’ll take him back and allow him to be a part of her and the baby’s life, something he didn’t even know he needs.

.   .   .   .   .

The shower shuts off and he gives her a minute, hoping he’ll still find her there when he makes his way to the bedroom.

“Hey.”

Hearing a sharp gasp of surprise from Rachel, he stops and hovers in the doorway, afraid to move any closer.

“You’re still here?” she sobs, her eyes seemingly begging him to move closer.

He fidgets under her gaze and feels his eyes start to water at the tone of her question. Heartbroken and painfully hopeful are good ways to describe it and it makes him feel like complete shit.

“I promised never to leave again, didn’t I?” He starts to edge closer to where she’s sitting on the bed nodding her head slowly.

“That’s true. You did promise me that…among other things.”

“Do you want me to go?” he asks, praying she’ll say no.

She’s biting her lip nervously and she just barely shakes her head. It’s enough for him, and he starts to feel relief wash over him. As long as she wasn’t kicking him out and was willing to give him a second chance, they could work things out.

She’s silent for a long moment, staring down at her hands. He has to listen closely when she finally does speak, and he’s only a few feet away.

“You _can’t_ do that to me ever again. Okay? I won’t survive it.”

Rachel always has been predisposed to being overly-dramatic, but he’s sure what she’s saying is true.

“Okay,” he agrees readily. “I swear, I won’t. Thank you.”

He knows that if she chose not to forgive him, he would no longer be the same man. He would turn into a bitter, cold, disconnected version of himself, and he would never love again. He could never love anyone like he loved her.

“Don’t-- _Don’t_ thank me. This is not a gift. You’re going to have to work to get my trust back,” she tells him quietly, an unfamiliar steely resolve in her gaze.

His throat suddenly feels like someone’s choking him, and he tries to swallow through it and get it to loosen up. It doesn’t work, but he keeps trying as he sits down on the bed near Rachel.

He lets his hand rest palm-up on the bedspread, hoping she’ll see the invitation for what it is. She’s the most important thing in his life and he loves her more than anything. He needs her to take his hand so he can know that they’ll be able to get past this.

She stares down at his hand for a long time, so long that he almost pulls it away. But then she takes a deep breath and slides her hand over his, lacing their fingers together.

“I love you,” he whispers gratefully.

She just nods and keeps the same distance between them.

.   .   .   .   .

The road back to who they were before lies and betrayal overtook them both is hard and rocky. There are a lot of nights that he sleeps on the couch, and more than a few where he buckles under the weight of her heartbreak and goes for a walk around the block at midnight.

They talk. Rachel cries. Jesse stays even when he feels like running. Slowly, it gets easier.

.   .   .   .   .

Jesse wakes up one night in early September, when summer is starting to fade into fall and someone living in the country might sleep with the windows open. Rachel is gone from the bed, and he sits up, thinking he’ll see the light on in the bathroom and be able to roll over and go back to sleep.

But he doesn’t. She’s not there.

He finds her in the kitchen, balanced in a chair at the table, her whole body completely tense and rigid.

She's stuffing giant marshmallows into her mouth at an ungodly rate, and he just sits back and watches in amazement as she eats her frustration.

Eventually she slows her pace enough that she's actually taking bites, and he dares to approach the clearly sensitive subject with her.

"You okay?"

She shakes her head, plucking another marshmallow from the bag in her hand.

"We're not ready." There's a clipped edge to her voice. She's panicking.

"We'll get ready," he shrugs, leaning against the counter. "You're not due for another six weeks."

She looks at him like he just sprouted a second head and declared his intention to quit theatre.

"Do you even _hear_ yourself right now? We only have _six weeks_ , and that's if the baby's not early!"

"Okay, well, what do you suggest we do about this at 2 am?" he replies patiently, coming over to bend down next to her chair, stroking her back and stealing a marshmallow from the table.

Rachel makes a choking sound in the back of her throat like she can't believe he just said _that_.

"We can decide on a crib and order it, we can narrow down our list of names, we can do any number of things, Jesse!" she rants, a hand coming to rest on his shoulder, keeping him close by her side despite the tone of her admonishment.

"Come back to bed?" he whispers against her cheek, softly kissing it.

"No! I'm mad at you for letting us get this far behind. We were supposed to be ready by now." She's whining, but her arms come up to circle his neck and she clings to him.

“So, we’ll get ready,” he shrugs, comfortable back in his old position of the calm and controlled party of the relationship, happy to do his best to support her.

“Do you really think we can do it?” she asks hopefully.

“I _know_ we can.”

.   .   .   .   .

Rachel wakes up slowly in the dead middle of the night. 3:17 a.m. This isn’t new. For the past two months, she’s been waking up at least twice a night because of worrying about things, feeling cramped and changing positions, or needing to pee, to name a few causes of her insomnia. Feeling a not-uncomfortable weight around her midsection, she tries to roll over, but stops when she feels Jesse's hand on her arm.

“What? What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” he whispers in a way that makes her sure he's not being completely honest.

“Jesse. What are you doing?” she asks so quietly and with a voice so rough with sleep that she barely hears herself.

“Just-- I’m thinking.”

He’s sitting up, cross legged next to her on the bed, and his eyes are locked on his hands which are resting on her belly. The baby is awake; a night owl just like his or her father and Rachel can feel kicking and movement right where Jesse’s hands are.

He's freaking out, she's sure. She had her meltdown two weeks ago in their kitchen, and now he's having his.

“You're not thinking, you're _worrying_.” One of her hands slides over to rest on top of his left hand, squeezing gently, as if to remind him that they’re in this together.

Jesse closes his eyes and in the light from the city coming in their window she can see him roll his tense shoulders, the muscles clearly not loosening from the grimace on his face.

“You’ll feel better if you talk about it,” she reminds him gently, shifting onto her side slightly to get a better look at him, Jesse’s hands sliding over her belly, his fingers catching the fabric as she rolls.

“There’s a lot left to do,” he sighs.

It’s a cop-out answer and she knows she has to call him on it.

“We’ll be ready. It’s going to be tight, but we’re going to be fine,” she assures him, before pressing further. “That’s not it. What’s wrong?”

Jesse laughs, humorlessly, bitterly, finally pulling his hands away to run them through his hair. It’s a nervous habit that he never quite grew out of, and the fact that she has this effect on him is almost enough to make up for the sudden loss of his touch.

“I’m selfish,” he says suddenly, staring at her belly as if to apologize to his child for the failure he’s certain he’ll become. “I’m an asshole. I mean, fuck, Rachel. Look what I did to you.”

At the mention of their separation, of Jesse’s slip of infidelity, she starts to tear up. She doesn’t cry anymore, but the memories are still too fresh for her to not feel like she’s back in that moment, hearing him confess his sin just barely loud enough for her to hear. She blinks back the response, focusing on their perfect, beautiful future.

“That doesn’t matter,” she tells him simply.

“Of course it matters. Assholes make terrible fathers, I should know,” he mutters, finally tearing his gaze away from her to glance wildly around the room, determined to stay convinced that he’ll fail.

“That means nothing. There’s no comparing you to your father, Jesse.”

She means it. There’s just, quite simply, no comparison to be made. Jesse wins out as the better man every time.

Sure, they both have strong, broad shoulders, blue eyes, and dimples that the girls go wild over. But that’s pretty much where the similarities end. Sebastian is absent from his life, only engaged when money is involved, whereas Jesse lives every part of his life to the fullest it possibly can be, experiencing everything.

Rachel knows there’s no way Jesse would be the type to be an absent father, even if he doesn’t believe that about himself.

“I’m like him in the worst ways,” he whispers, hesitantly meeting her eyes.

“Headstrong, arrogant, a complete dick, yep,” Rachel concedes. “But you’re also caring, loyal, and filled with love. Do you love our baby?” she asks, knowing the answer already.

He wouldn’t be worrying if he didn’t.

“Of course I do.”

“Then, we’ll be fine,” she promises. “In a month, we're going to have this solid, real, little person to worry about; a person to feed and change and watch and _love_.”

He nods a little, shaking his head in amazement. His fears are still there, and probably always will be. But the crease on his forehead is lessening, and he’s back to staring at Rachel’s belly. This time, there’s more amazement than panic, and Rachel smiles, holding up an arm to invite him into her embrace.

He lies back down, a protective arm circling around Rachel and her precious cargo, kissing her before settling in fully for the night.

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” he murmurs, his thumb softly stroking her belly as his breathing starts to even out.

“Shhh,” she whispers, leaning into his body as best she can to kiss his forehead. Her lips move softly against his temple. “Sleep…just sleep tonight.”

.   .   .   .   .

She’s been walking a lot for the last week. The baby is overdue, set to be induced on November First, and Rachel is doing everything in her power to get it out as soon as possible. She takes her list of natural remedies and works through them one by one; walking, spicy food, massage, acupuncture, and even sex, though that’s more than a little difficult given her size and abnormal shape.

Nothing works.

The whole pregnancy has basically been miserable, for a variety of physical and emotional reasons, and she’s ready to put it behind her. She’s ready to close this chapter of her life and focus on being a mom.

They’ve beaten the clock, gotten a nursery and the whole apartment ready for a baby in what feels like record time, which only makes it that much more infuriating to Rachel that she has to wait for the baby to come.

“I am so damn tired of walking all the time,” she huffs, pulling her coat back from her body, suddenly hot, hoping the cool October air will help a bit.

“Mmm.”

Jesse’s walking with her, looking at the falling orange and red leaves and holding her hand just like he should be, but she can’t help but hate him a little bit.

“This is your fault,” she snaps, pulling him out of the trance he seemed to be in.

“Come again?” he looks over, his eyebrows raised in that way that she finds annoying and hot at the same time. “How do you figure that?”

“I didn’t get _myself_ pregnant.”

He pulls her to a stop on street, looking at her with his eyes narrowed. They stay like that for a long moment before he says, “I’m gonna ignore that, because I know you don’t mean it.”

She doesn’t mean it, not really. She knows this is as much her doing as it is his (maybe more), but it’s not like she’s about to concede that.

“I feel uncomfortable to even be in my own skin, Jesse!” she whines as he starts walking again. “Do you even get that?”

“I know,” he says, and she thinks he means for it to sound sympathetic, but she’s really in the mood to hate him, so she ignores it. “Not too much longer, just a couple of days.”

One day, in fact. Halloween is the next day, and then she’s scheduled for the very next morning.

“Still.”

She pouts for the next five blocks; all the way back to the apartment, holding Jesse’s hand tightly, a part of her afraid he might just decide to leave because of what a bitch she’s being.

He kisses her cheek before he reluctantly takes his hand back to unlock the door, and she reminds herself that she’s being silly. He’s not going to leave, not again, but she should be a little nicer to him.

Taking charge and opening the doorknob before he could even get the key out of the lock, she trudges into the apartment, peeling her coat off.

“We should have sex again,” she calls back to him as she walks into the living room…that’s full of people.

“Surprise,” Jesse coughs from behind her, trying and failing to contain his laughter.

She wants the ground to open up and swallow her whole. Bethany and seven of her friends are sitting in the living room, gifts in front of each of them, with a small cake on the coffee table.

“Wow. I…wasn’t expecting this.”

“Clearly,” mutters Chris’ sister Bianca, who earns herself a glare from Bethany as she walks over to Rachel.

“I know, honey, but we wanted it to be a surprise,” she says as she leans in for a hug so she can whisper in her ear. “A couple of hours of people making a fuss over you, that’s not so bad, right?”

Rachel shrugs as they separate, looking at the ladies around her.

“Thank you all for coming,” she greets timidly, looping her arm through Bee’s.

“Of course,” they all chorus, everyone content to get the party started.

“I’ll just…go somewhere else,” Jesse mumbles, his coat still on as he backs towards the door.

“You’re not staying?” Rachel asks desperately, feeling her eyes start to water.

“Well…no,” he says simply, following it with a cryptic shrug. “But, I’ll be around.”

“And we’ll be fine,” Bethany insists, more for Rachel’s reassurance than anyone else’s, as she pulls her in to sit in an armchair.

They play games-- the number of toilet paper squares it took to wrap around her belly will never be disclosed-- and everyone asks how Rachel is feeling, listening intently as she leaves out the gas and heartburn that’s kept her up for the last three nights straight.

She’s opening her second gift, just the _second_ one, when the lower back pain that’s become a part of her everyday life morphs into something far more sinister than the annoyance she’d tolerated before.

Leaning forward in the chair, as best she can at least, she tries to catch her breath.

“Rachel? Are you okay?” Bethany’s by her side in an instant, so concerned as she takes her hand, and Rachel knows she’s the best friend she could ever have.

“Call Jesse,” she whimpers, tears starting to fall despite her best effort to stay calm.

.   .   .   .   .

This whole process is torture.

Setting aside the panic he felt when he got the call from Bethany and heard Rachel screaming and crying in the background, they nearly killed themselves getting to the hospital only to be told they have to _wait_.

“She’s only three centimeters,” the doctor said after examining Rachel’s cervix.

“You have got to be kidding me!” Rachel whined, glaring at her like it was somehow _her fault_.

“We’ll give it some time; see how you do with the contractions, hope labor speeds up. First babies can take a while.”

That was three hours ago, and she’s only moved up one centimeter since then.

Jesse sighs as he shifts in his chair, holding Rachel’s hand while she sobs. It kills him to see her crying, but there’s literally nothing else he can do for her.

She’s not even in pain anymore, not since she got the epidural an hour ago. She’s just…being Rachel.

“Come on, sweetheart, it’s not that bad.”

“No!” she wails. “This baby is never coming out! It already hates me!”

“Whoa…” the nurse whistles as she breezes into the room. “You doin’ okay, darlin’?”

“She’s fine,” Jesse insists, ignoring the way Rachel lets go of his hand with a noise of disgust in the back of her throat. His hand now free, he reaches into his pocket to pull out his phone and send Bethany a text, begging for her help.

“Oh, I cannot _believe_ you.”

“Rachel--”

“Seriously?” she shrieks, grabbing a wad of tissues from the box in her lap. “I’m in emotional distress, and you’re _texting_?”

“You gotta calm down, honey,” the nurse chimes in, checking the monitors.

“And just who do you think you are?”

If she had been standing, her fists would have been on her hips, her head cocked slightly to the side with one eyebrow raised. The expression was there, Jesse sees once he slowly raises his gaze from his phone.

“Uh, _Rachel_ \--”

“I’m your nurse, and I’m just trying to help,” the other woman insists as politely as she can. “Can I do anything to help? Because you’re going to start stressing that little one out.”

That seems to calm her down a little and she just shakes her head slightly before looking down, dabbing at the rest of the tears on her cheeks.

“Okay,” the nurse says, laying a hand on Rachel’s shoulder. “I need to check you real quick. Dad, you want to wait outside…?”

“Yes,” Jesse says quickly, kissing Rachel’s forehead on his way out of the room. It’s not that it’s gross or anything; he’s no stranger to Rachel’s vagina. But it’s uncomfortable for her, and hearing her whimper once as she was invasively prodded was more than enough. It makes his chest ache.

He paces the hall, texting Bethany directions to the room, while the nurse finishes the exam.

He still can’t quite believe that this is happening. Even more than a week late, this managed to sneak up on him.

He’d just called her when he spots Bethany’s trademark deep red hair at the end of the hall, and he hangs up, spreading his arms out as if to ask where she’d been.

“What the hell took you so long, Bethany?” he asks once she’s close enough that he doesn’t have to yell.

“ _Sorry_ , I had to grab some shit on the way.”

It’s so cryptic and he glares at her as she brushes past him into the room where Rachel is sitting up in bed, pouting.

“Hey, hot mama!” She’s grinning widely, clearly determined to act as if Rachel’s not being a complete drama queen about this whole thing, and she gets right to work by unpacking the bag that she brought with her; _Funny Girl_ , a deck of Broadway-themed playing cards, and three Sudoku books, all along with assorted trashy magazines and snacks for her.

“Jesus, think you can fit anything else in there, Mary Poppins? Maybe the bones of the small children you devoured last Full Moon?”

He’s not normally mean to her, but she’s been a bitch to him for months and he’s a little on edge.

“I also brought Rachel’s knitting,” she replies brightly, hopping up on the bed as she hands Rachel a frozen lemonade. “How you doin’?”

The glare from Rachel is expected, and as she distracts herself with a rant about _how awful all this waiting is_ and _how insensitive he’s been_ , Jesse goes to sit in the chair in the corner, one of the magazines in hand.

.   .   .   .   .

This is taking longer than he expected. They’re entering hour twelve and Rachel is only seven centimeters dilated, just like she has been for the last three hours.

He reminds himself not to panic, that first babies take a while. He reminds himself that his and Rachel’s baby is bound to want to take its sweet time. He looks at Rachel and reminds himself of how great she’s been since her epidural somehow wore off two hours ago.

Nothing helps.

Rachel grips his hand, their thumbs locked together as she clings to the heel of his palm, trying to ride out the contraction.

It takes too long in his opinion for her to take a deep breath and loosen her hold on him, her face finally relaxing.

“I hate this,” he mumbles, wishing he could be stronger for her.

“What? I’m _fine_ ,” she insists as she strokes his cheek, a complete 180 from nine hours earlier when she was capable of doing nothing but sobbing in bed.

“No, you’re not. You’re in pain, and…this is taking too damn long! This can’t be normal, right?”

She blinks up at him from the bed a few times before she shifts her body as gracefully as she can, making some room on one side of the bed for him.

“Come on,” she invites him up, though it honestly sounds more like an order.

Bethany’s asleep, curled up and twisted in odd angles in the armchair in the corner since it’s past four a.m. now, and Jesse very carefully climbs into the bed next to Rachel. With two people, one of them nine months pregnant, in a bed made for one, it’s close quarters.

“Try to sleep,” she encourages him, kissing his forehead and twirling that one curl around her finger in that way that he’s always pretended irritated him. It’s actually comforting, and he can’t help but sigh.

“Can’t.” It’s firm and resolute, strong. It’s everything he’s not feeling.

“Why?”

“Because you can’t.”

She laughs so softly in his ear, burying her face in his neck, that he barely hears her.

“That’s ridiculous, Jesse.” She presses her cheek to his, close enough to whisper in his ear about how she loves him and needs him at his best, and how can he do that without sleep?

It’s so logical and honest that he can’t help but think that motherhood has already changed her for the better. She’s not…insisting on him _suffering with her_? Not making him miserable _just because_ she is? It’s a new development.

But just as he’s falling asleep per her instructions, he feels Rachel’s fingers dig into his shoulder and hears her gasp in his ear. The muscles of her stomach feel harder than they had before, tightening beneath his hand.

And suddenly he’s wide awake, not going anywhere, because no matter what she tries to convince him of, she needs him.

Maybe becoming a parent is changing him, too.

.   .   .   .   .

She’s sobbing again, and it breaks his heart. Tears stream out of the corners of her eyes, mingling with sweat to dampen the hair around her face. She’s been in labor for what feels like a lifetime, though it’s only been eighteen hours.

_Only_ eighteen hours.

Rachel slumps back on the bed with a choked sob after another push. She’s been doing this for an hour, and she looks like she’s close to breaking, not that Jesse can blame her. He brushes the damp hair back from her forehead and leans in to whisper words of encouragement in her ear, because other than holding her leg back, it’s all he can do.

“You’re doing great, sweetheart,” he tells her, kissing her temple.

“No,” she sobs, reaching up to cling to his neck. “I’m not. The baby should be out by now!”

He glances at the nurses and doctor for some kind of help, because he honestly doesn’t know what to say to that. He was thinking the same thing himself not a minute earlier.

“You’re making great progress, Rachel,” her doctor assures her. “Really, you are. I don’t think it’ll be too much longer before this little one starts crowning.”

Lucy, the nurse that’s been with them for the past five hours, chimes in with, “Your baby probably just has a big head!” and that earns a snort from Bethany on Rachel’s other side.

“Ready to push again?” the doctor asks, though it doesn’t really sound like she has much of a choice.

Rachel starts shaking her head almost frantically and whimpers, pulling Jesse closer by the back of his neck.

“I can’t do this,” she cries, and he leans in to kiss away the tears on her cheek.

“You can. You’re already doing it,” he encourages her, pulling her back up into a position to push. “Come on, sweetheart. You’re almost there.”

She’s been _almost there_ for about four hours, with everyone emphasizing the light at the end of this painful tunnel, but he doesn’t know what else to say. All he can do is hold her and hope that they really are almost done.

Another push, another moment of panic when Rachel collapses in his arms.

“Another three or four pushes and you should be able to meet your baby!” the doctor informs them as the nurse pats Rachel’s knee.

“Jesse.”

It’s the way she whimpers it that breaks his heart.

“What?”

“I can’t do this. I _can’t_.”

“No, no. Rachel, _sweetheart_ , of course you can,” he murmurs close to her ear as she buries her face against his chest, shaking her head.

“It’s never coming out!” she wails, sounding so genuinely distressed that his blood pressure skyrockets. He looks to the doctor and nurses, to Bethany, but he knows that this is it. This is what he’s here for.

“Yes, it is. The doctor just told us a few more pushes. You can do that, Rachel,” he whispers the words in her ear, holding her as close as he can.

Except that just makes her sob harder, and he can tell from the machine that she has another contraction building and that she’ll need to push. But she keeps pulling on his hand, refusing to move again. She’s at the end of the bed already, plenty of room behind her, and he turns to one of the nurses to ask if he can climb up, never letting go of Rachel’s hand.

Bethany meets his eyes and nods, coaxing Rachel up into a halfway sitting position so that Jesse can slip in behind her.

“You have already been an amazing mother to this baby Rachel,” he whispers, his chin on her shoulder. “I don’t know how you did it, but I love you so much. But you’re not done yet, and I’m sorry about that. But it’s just a little longer.”

She laces the fingers of both of her hands with his and, just barely, nods.

Five pushes later, Jesse heard his son cry for the first time, and damn if he didn’t cry a little himself.

.   .   .   .   .

Benjamin Nathaniel St. James.

It’s a dignified name, solid, something that should take him far in life. He’ll be whatever his heart can dream up. The hefty push he’ll get from Rachel should help, too.

Looking at her, seeing her smile as she watches the baby sleep in the crook of her elbow, he knows he couldn’t have asked for a better mother for his children.

Jesse sighs as he sinks down onto the bed next to the rest of his family, the two halves of his heart. Leaning in to kiss Rachel, he lets his lips linger against her temple, taking a moment to thank her for this gift.

“How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” she mumbles, the word half-sigh and half-laugh, sounding utterly exhausted. “But I don’t want to give him back. I just want to watch him sleep like this forever.”

Leaning his head on her shoulder, Jesse can’t help but agree. Ben is only six hours and twenty-seven minutes old, but his father would already walk to the ends of the Earth, to hell and back, just to make him smile.

_Father_.

_That’s_ a new title. It feels good, but…It’s missing something.

“Here,” he says, taking the baby from Rachel’s arms-- over her protest-- to place him in the bassinette.

“What?” she asks, and he can see her bracing herself for the worst, expecting the bottom to fall out again and for him to leave her to fend for herself as she free-falls into another darkened world.

“I-- I have something. For you.” In all his life Jesse has never been awkward or nervous. Suave was a word that could be used to describe him at age seven.

But this is different than anything else that came before it. This is his entire future, his whole life.

Reaching into his coat pocket, he takes out a small box covered in dark red velvet, before returning to Rachel’s side.

“Jesse, what--”

“I love you,” he starts simply. “I have spent more than ten years loving every single thing about you. I know I’m not perfect, but I promise you…I will love you with every cell in my body, until my dying breath. You are my life and you gave me the greatest gift I could possibly ask for, but…I’d like to ask you for one more thing.”

“Yes?” she asks, holding her breath.

“Will you be my wife?”

There’s a moment, just a few seconds, where her face is completely blank, and his heart stops beating, terrified she’s going to say no.

But then she’s nodding and crying, pulling him up onto the bed next to her.

“Yes,” she whispers against his lips as he slips the ring, his grandmother’s, onto her hand.

It’s official. He has a family, and he’s probably the happiest he’s ever been.

.   .   .   .   .

“We should…probably go in now,” Rachel tries for the third time in twenty minutes.

“Why? What’s the rush?”

He’s been like this the whole trip, steadily getting worse the closer they got to the house. At JFK, he obstinately insisted that their terminal was in the opposite direction and then he took forever to change the baby, all in the vain hope that they would miss their flight. After the plane ride from hell, they finally landed in Ohio and Jesse took forever finding the rental car desk, even though he’d been in the Dayton airport many times, and Rachel knew for a fact that he knew exactly where to go. For good measure, he circled the airport twice claiming that he missed the sign. After a threat to make him pull over and take the keys, he finally just drove the damn car…until about seven miles from the Berry house, when he dropped his speed to ten below the posted limit.

Jesse St. James, Mr. Lead Foot himself, drove _below_ the speed limit. Rachel didn’t think it could possibly get more ridiculous.

And then, to top it all off, he’s spent the last twenty minutes refusing to get out of the car.

Rachel is rapidly losing what little patience she had left, staring at her childhood home while intermittently poking at the stilted conversation with Jesse. She wants to be inside, she wants to be enjoying this holiday that was so special growing up.

So her longing to be with her family and her frustration with Jesse translates into Rachel turning into a bitch.

“ _Well_ , I was supposed to be in the kitchen by now, making latkes with my dad...”

“So? He’s done this on his own for the past three years.”

“That’s not the point, Jesse! Why are you--” She’s cut off by “Tomorrow” coming from her phone, the screen lighting up with Hiram’s cheerful face to signal who’s calling, if the custom ringtone wasn’t enough.

“Better get that,” Jesse says quickly, glancing in the rearview mirror under the pretense of checking on the baby.

“Yes?” she answers, her tone clipped as she glares at Jesse next to her. “We’re fine. _Actually_ , we’re outside…I honestly have no idea. Jesse, why are we sitting in the driveway?”

Met with silence, Rachel rolls her eyes before turning her attention back to her father on the other end of the line.

“I’ll try to talk to him. We’ll be in soon.” She leans forward in her seat, examining her fingernails closely and while her father clearly offers some unsolicited advice. “You haven’t been with him _all day_ it’s _ridic_ \--! She takes another long pause, listening closely, before she sighs reluctantly. “Yes, I know. I love you, too.”

She counts to ten before she even looks over at Jesse.

“What did your dad have to say?”

The look she sends him is one of focused patience, like she might just snap and kill him if he says the wrong thing.

“He reminded me that I love you, that we made it here safely, and that that’s all that matters.”

“Oh.”

“And that if you’re reluctant to go inside, you must have your reasons. We’re a family now, and we need to learn to communicate our insecurities and concerns better if we’re going to…not repeat what happened before.” She might have choked a little on the first sentence, unwilling to concede that his concerns could possibly be valid.

“…oh.”

She knows what she just did, and she’s damn proud. Jesse now either has to communicate his feelings or face his fears. There’s no possible way this could go wrong.

.   .   .   .   .

“I’m just not ready.” He makes sure that there’s no hint of hesitation, no emotional quiver. It’s quick; a firm diagnosis of his “inner self” or whatever bullshit she’s trying to rope him into examining.

“That’s _it_?” she shrieks softly, careful not to wake their son in the backseat. “I can’t belie-- No. I don’t have time for whatever your drama is. We’re going inside.”

“You can’t make me,” he points out petulantly, gripping the steering wheel.

“Not ‘you-and-I-we’, ‘me-and-Ben-we,’” she says smugly, reaching for the door handle.

Immediately, his hand shoots out to grab her arm and stop her.

“Wait. What?”

Baby Ben is his one ally in this, and that’s only because he’s never met his grandparents before. Once Leroy starts his Lion King impressions and silly faces, all use his son has for him will be gone.

“I’m going inside, and I’m taking him with me,” she says, looking at him like he’s lost his mind if he thinks she’s leaving the baby in the car in the middle of December in Ohio. “You’re more than welcome to join us, otherwise...”

He thinks that over for a good, long minute, his hands tightly gripping the steering wheel of their rented Camry as he considers sleeping in the backseat.

“I’m not ready yet.”

This is the first holiday function, the first time seeing her fathers, since…their problems. He’s not looking forward to the awkward pauses or the way he knows Leroy will refuse to look at him.

More than that, now that he is a father as well, he doesn’t want to have to find the courage to meet their eyes after what he did to Rachel.

“When will you be ready?”

She’s lost hold of the tenuous grip she had on her patience, he can tell, and asks the question like whatever his answer might be is going to be too long.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, that’s just not acceptable. Get out of the car.”

“Rachel--

“Get out. Of the car. You are going to walk into that house and be a gentleman for the next week, Jesse.”

Arguing with her when she gets that determined look in her eyes is basically pointless, and he knows that. Her eyes are huge and wide, staring intently at him in a way that makes most people think she’s unbalanced in some way. But Jesse knows that she’s just passionate, and _absolutely convinced_ that she’s right.

“Fine.” It’s a short, quick, sure reply. It’s so neat, nice and polite that people who don’t know him like she does wouldn’t even think he was arguing with her about anything. He knows it completely annoys the hell out of her.

The only thing keeping her from slamming her door is the baby in the backseat, and Jesse looks over his right shoulder at the curious, wide-awake face of his infant son.

“She’s going to make this week hell for me,” he tells Ben, almost expecting some sympathy as Rachel stands outside the car, buttoning her coat.

He sees her hook the last button just above her bust and he knows he can expect a sharp knock on the window if he doesn’t move right this second. He almost lets it come, just because, just to drag his feet a little more, but… he’s still holding out for sex during the trip and he knows that’s off the table if he pushes her too far.

He opens his door and looks down at the curiously thick and white snow on the ground before getting out. He’d forgotten how…rural Ohio was.

“I’ve got Ben,” he calls to Rachel quickly, noticing her making her way around the car.

“ _What_?”

“I’ll get the baby. You can handle the bags, right?”

“Well… _yeah_ , but--”

“What?”

“...I feel like something’s happening here. What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing.” Unflinchingly earnest eyes? Check. Slightly cocked eyebrow implying that she’s being unduly suspicious and should back off? Check. Temperatures below freezing to keep the nervous sweating under control? Check…thank God.

He’s been dreading this moment ever since Rachel announced at Thanksgiving that they would be making this trip. Her dads need to meet the baby, she hasn’t _really_ celebrated Hanukkah in years, and it’s a nice change from the city… or whatever. He gets it. But…he’s just a little worried that he’ll get “accidentally” burned by a candle, or that Leroy might try to castrate him in his sleep.

He can’t put anything past the man at this point. Jesse’s been a father for forty-seven and a half days, and he would already actually kill for his son. He can imagine how Leroy feels, and that’s why he’s so worried. He can’t blame the man for hating him.

“Do you want help?” he asks, too late for it to be considered anything other than a polite, hollow offer.

Rachel sticks her head out of the trunk as she throws his duffel into the snow bank, sounding bitter like she has all day as she says, “Nope, I got it taken care of.”

He knows better than to respond to that, and he just leans in the back door to take out the car seat, baby and all.

“She’s so mad at me. You’ll help me out with that, though, right?” he whispers conspiratorially as he unclicks the seat, winking at his son.

There’s not much of a response, but that’s okay. St. James men are the strong, silent types. They never give too much away, which makes them great at poker, but bad at relationships. Rachel will make sure the baby grows out of this natural inclination, Jesse knows that.

He makes sure Ben is nice and warm, protected from the December chill by the blankets nestled around him.

It was surprising just how quickly and easily they both fell into their new roles, especially considering the drama that they went through prior to Ben’s birth.

Jesse likes being a father, likes having someone that relies on him, and he’s looking forward to the future. Whether it’s voice lessons and dance class, or little league games and soccer practice…he wants to be there, which is more than he could have said six months ago.

As he enters the home of his soon-to-be in-laws and Leroy takes his free hand in a firm handshake, he knows that life has finally fallen into place for them both, even if Rachel does roll her eyes at him before she disappears into the kitchen.

   


.   .   .   .   .

 

 

The End.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please excuse any mistakes. I was intending to do a massive re-edit of this that just never happened. Still, I hope you enjoyed it!


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